


Bad Boys, Good Toys

by myu_gao



Category: MewGulf - Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong, เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV), เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Past Relationship(s), Strength Kink, Tattoos, rapper!gulf, singer!mew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26954722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myu_gao/pseuds/myu_gao
Summary: If only they could see Thailand’s most famous bad-boy rapper melt like butter under Mew’s hands. If only they could see the real Gulf.How surprised would they be?
Relationships: Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong
Comments: 274
Kudos: 682





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- in my dreams gulf lives tattooed and pierced  
> \- i'm not sure he would get tattoos or piercings but i just Know he would pull it off  
> \- also i just rly wanted bad boy gulf so sue me

"Fuck." Mew mutters under his breath, sweat beading his forehead. His bicep muscles ache from holding up Gulf's entire weight, but the way the younger man keens and grasps desperately at his shoulders makes it all worth it.

"Got a strength kink, princess?" He teases, nosing into Gulf's left collarbone, at the ink that the trails of ink that adorn the delicate bone. Mew's never really bothered to read Gulf's tats, but damn if the dark ink against his skin doesn't look sexy. So enticing, Mew just wants to bite it. He does, and a loud groan reverberates through the room.

"F-fuck off." Gulf manages. His voice is definitely ruined after this marathon session of fucking. On a positive note, his fangirls will probably squeal at the raspy quality of his voice the next time he performs. They wouldn't if they knew the reason behind it.

Spurred on by the thought, Mew snaps his hips back with a ferocity that surprises them both. Gulf lets out the loudest moan of the night, latching his lips onto the juncture between Mew's neck and shoulder, and sucking as if that'll stop him from making obscene noises.

It's not going to work, and they both know it. Gulf's always been an exceptionally vocal lover, after all. And fuck, Mew loves it. Always makes it an internal mission to extract more and more of those obscene noises out of Gulf. He sets a brutal pace, snapping his hips into Gulf almost violently. The younger man trembles visibly, clutching desperately at Mew's flexed biceps and throws his head back. His adam's apple bobs. A whine pitches out the back of his throat, needy.

"Coming, baby?" He whispers into Gulf's ear. He nibbles on the shell of it just to prove a point. The younger man shudders on reflex - Gulf's ears have always been an erogenous zone of his.

"N-not your bae - ah! Shia, Mew!" Gulf lets out a few choked protests before he's spurting pearly white over both of their stomachs. There's something about the way Gulf looks in the throes of pleasure, eyes hooded and chestnut-shaped lips parted, that leads Mew to quickly follow him to that sweet climax, releasing into the condom.

Mew groans, pulling out of Gulf and quickly disposing of the condom. He twists his arms, trying to measure the amount of muscle pain he’s going to have tomorrow. He's nearing thirty and marathon sex is not as easy as it used to be - not that he used to have a lot of it, anyways. The younger man is simply lying there on the rumpled bedsheets, stretching his legs carefully.

The brief silence after these visceral moments feel sacred, almost. It's like they can actually tolerate being in each other's presence, like, despite the distance between them, that there might be more to this than just the sex.

"Good one." Mew finally says, fully aware of how condescending his tone is. It's meant to be a dig, and he's not sorry about it.

Gulf doesn't reply, reaching awkwardly over the side of the bed and tugging on his boxers. _By gods, does this man ever talk?_ Mew watches idly as he pulls on his leather pants with a little more than necessary and stuffs his feet into his boots with no fanfare. Gulf limps towards the door like that, and Mew watches his small ass, cupped tightly by his pants, sway as he walks.

"Not staying over tonight either?" It's meant to be teasing, but there's a bit of a sneer in Mew's voice. 

"'m busy." Gulf hesitates, one hand on the door. He looks back at Mew for a brief second, and Mew thinks he's going to say something. Apparently not, because the door slams shut a few moments later and Mew is left alone again.

* * *

The music industry is a big one. Both Mew and Gulf are big names within it, despite occupying opposite ends of the spectrum. They've both been termed the nation's boyfriend, though for very different reasons.

Mew is the nation's boyfriend-you'd-bring-home-to-your-parents. He's the very picture of the ideal gentleman, with his handsome looks and gentle voice. He sings ballads of Hades and Persephone, of star-crossed lovers, of love meant to be. _Whoever becomes Mew Suppasit's lover will be sooooo lucky_ , the online forums say, _I'm already so jealous of them._

Gulf, on the other hand, is the nation's bad-boy boyfriend. His wide eyes become intimidating under flashing lights, and the way he spits his bars has the girls squealing and the men quaking. Comments on his social media usually contain their fair share of fire emojis and drooling-face emojis, and more than a few keyboard smashes.

 _Enemies with benefits_ would be the best way to describe their relationship. They fall into bed together when it suits them, and ignore each other the rest of the time. It works for both of them because no one knows and no one suspects, not even their managers, or even their closest friends.

It's as if the other party doesn't exist whenever they happen to be at public events together, not even a brushing of the hands or a meeting of the eyes to demonstrate any semblance of acquaintance. Heck, not even in more intimate, celebrity-only parties have they ever even locked eyes. They've never interacted on social media. Their circles are so far apart that they'll never intersect, and maybe that's for the better.

* * *

Well, maybe there is _one_ intersection.

"He left already?" Mild lets himself in easily, slipping on the yellow ducky house slippers that Mew leaves specifically for him. He points to the plastic bag in his other hand with a frustrated frown. "I needed to pass him these." Mew peers into the bag. Bottles of shrimp paste, probably made by Mild's mother. _They're that close?_

"Of course he left. Why would he stay?" Mew busies himself with preparing a bottle of green tea. He's got a photoshoot for an endorsement later today, and he needs to look his best. It's for a candy company, he remembers, and stifles a laugh. He'd fucked a rapper last night, and now he's about to go off and sell some sweets. Not mutually exclusive events, but almost amusing when placed together. Mild sighs.

"Well. I always thought it was strange that you called it a hate-fuck situation," Mild says, "because I know the both of you, and neither of you are the type to hate on someone."

Mew frowns.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you two could be a little friendlier with each other. After all, you two _are_ fucking." Mild is friendly but he's never been one to mince words. _And just because we're fucking doesn't mean he wants anything to do with me_ , Mew thinks.

"If you have an issue with it, go take it up with him. I wasn't the one who started all this nonsense." Mild sighs for the nth time, half-heartedly slapping at his bicep. He doesn't seem to completely believe Mew, but he also doesn't press further. Dropping his bag onto the kitchen counter, he pushes Mew back into the house.

"Whatever. Let's watch some Sky Castle. I need to know what happens to that crazy tutor."

* * *

Mew's in the studio when he gets the news. He's taking a little down time after the endorsement photoshoots he's had today, and he's chewing on candy he received from the first shoot whilst he finishes up some recording. The demo recordings for his songs sound fire, his next album is on its way, and all in all, things are really coming together.

Nice is slouched on the couch behind him, penning out lyrics with furrowed brows. He's been in that position for the past few hours, scribbling furiously. Zom is in the recording booth where she's finishing up a demo for a song Mew's produced. She's grooving with the melody, and finishes off the song with an impromptu run that has Mew clapping his hands in childish excitement. He has another song he wants Nice to record a demo for, but Zom's recording has gone swimmingly and he's more than satisfied with the progress today.

"That run was out of this world!" He tells Zom when she gets out, and they exchange a high-five. She beams, and pilfers a few of his gummy worms with a sweet smile.

"Thanks, p'Mew!"

Nice finally stretches, snapping his notebook shut.

"Yeah, Zom, that run was crazy good." Zom reciprocates the thumbs up with her own. "By the way, do we wanna get k-bbq after this?"

"Are we sure p'Mew doesn't have to go meet someone, though?" Zom teases. She steals another gummy worm as she says it.

_What?_

"No," Mew laughs it off, "Who would I have to go meet?"

Even Nice narrows his eyes at this one, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You've been sneaking off before I can even suggest dinner recently." _Shia._

"Just had stuff to work on. A bit stressed." That seems to be an acceptable answer, because both Nice and Zom give him sympathetic looks.

(It's a part-truth. Mew _is_ stressed, but that's not his reason for sneaking off before Nice or Zom can catch him for dinner. He's been sneaking home or to Gulf's condo, because hate-fucking is a surprisingly great way to relieve stress.)

"Don't work too hard, Mew." Zom reminds him. He has a little sister, but Zom is almost like the other sibling he never had.

"I won't." Mew reassures her. Zom and Nice head out first, leaving Mew to finish tweaking bits of the recording and pack his things. It comes along faster than usual - things are looking good for Mew today. And he's about to round off this brilliant day with a good k-bbq dinner, in the company of good friends. That's the high life right there, fuck whatever rappers say. He's shutting the computer and stretching his arms when his phone lets out a loud _ping!_

He mindlessly flips it over, glancing carelessly at the notification. 

**Mild**

albdgkjldj

mew

MEW

MEWWWWWWW

HV U SEEN THE NEWS???

<Link>

OH GODS PLS TELL ME WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON

Mew clicks without thinking too much of it. He's brought to a newsite with a glaring headline: _BREAKING: Rapper KNW confirmed to be in a relationship with -_ An expression of disdain comes to his face naturally - he hates gossip sites.

 _But a relationship?_ Blinking in confusion, Mew takes a careful look at the screen. He wouldn't be surprised if Gulf was in a relationship. Yeah, he would be miffed if a fuckbuddy was cheating on his lover with him, but this is no way warrants Mild's strong response. Which brings him to the question: _why would Mild send this to him?_ It's not like this is particularly gossip-worthy, at least to Mew. A dating scandal is only really a scandal when it comes to idols, or people with 'pure' images. Gulf is a rapper. A 'bad boy'. A relationship in the news, casual or not, can do no harm. So what's the deal?

**Mew**

Just a relationship, right?

It's not like I'm dating him

We're just fucking

And he's a rapper

People don't give a shit about rappers dating

**Mild**

THAT'S NOT THE POINT

MEW

ACTUALLY READ THE ARTICLE

PLS

Mew sighs, running a hand through his hair. Honestly, he can't be bothered with any news about Gulf at this time, not when he has his friends and a nice k-bbq dinner waiting for him. _Mm, samgyeopsal._ He can almost taste it.

His phone pings. More notifications from Mild, who seems to be getting increasingly panicked.

**Mild**

MEW

R U THERE

PLS

PLSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

WTF IS GOING ONNNNNN

Mew opens his phone and finally allows him to read the breaking headline. Thank gods he'd finished his gummy worms, otherwise he'd have choked for sure. Because on the screen, it reads like a judge's sentence:

_BREAKING: Rapper KNW confirmed to be in a relationship with nation's boyfriend, ballad singer Mew Suppasit_

"What the fuck?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- HAHAHA I'M GOING TO HELL  
> \- i didn't rly intend for this to be a fake dating au but i guess that's what you're getting  
> \- *yiren voice* sorry not sorry  
> \- also i'm sorry mew is such a pottymouth in this it's just that all my characters are pottymouths

Mew can feel Gulf's pulse under his palm. It's the same rhythm Mew feels whenever he's inside Gulf, mouthing at the side of his neck. From where Mew has pressed him against the wall, Gulf is breathing heavily but steadily, pupils dilated. The arch of his neck has never looked so enticing, and Mew wants to ruin it with hickeys. Against his better judgement, Mew's dick twitches in his pants.

_ Get a grip, Mew. _

"I said, what the hell is going on." It's not so much of a question as it is a statement, and Gulf moves his mouth uselessly, as if searching for the right words. As per usual, he shuts his mouth.

Fuck. Mew doesn't have time for this bullshit.

"Whose fucking idea was this?" Curls a few fingers around Gulf’s neck, not choking him but reminding him of Mew’s presence.  _ Come on. _

Gulf looks away. Mew punches the wall beside Gulf. effectively caging him in.

"Answer the damn question." Gulf's adam apple bobs as he swallows, but he says nothing. Fuck that, Mew’s getting his answers.

Gulf doesn't say anything but he also doesn't complain as Mew lifts his shirt up, nudging the cloth into Gulf's mouth. With the edge of his shirt in his mouth and his doe eyes wide, Gulf looks surprisingly innocent.  _ Not so innocent if he won't tell me what the fuck is going on. _

Mew leans forth and latches his lips to Gulf's left nipple, sucking with an intent to punish. He sucks until the areola is swollen, a throbbing red. Some sadistic part of Mew is grinning in satisfaction. His other hand hand comes up to thumb at Gulf's right nipple, to toy at the metal bar that's pierced through it.

"Mm - " Gulf groans, throwing his head back. "Fuck." 

"Still not going to tell me?" Mew taunts, giving Gulf all but two seconds of reprieve before he continues with his ministrations. Gulf lets out a full-bodied moan when Mew bites at his nipple, and gently flicks the piercing that's through the other. Though Gulf isn’t ticklish, his chest has always been sensitive - just a few hickeys on his moles and bites on his nipples can usually bring him to climax. But that’s not Mew’s goal today, so he fluctuates with his ministrations, aiming to punish rather than please.

"I-I can't." Gulf gasps out.

"Can't what. Can't tell me why the fuck you had to involve me in this mess? If you won't behave I'm gonna have to punish you."

"N-no I'm a good boy." Gulf chokes out. _ Liar.  _ Mew nips at Gulf's nipple with more than a little force, and the younger man's spine goes taut as a desperate whine escapes his throat.

The door suddenly slams open, and Mew's head snaps up with a force that scares him.

"Shia!"

"P'Best." Gulf tries. Gulf's manager has his head turned pointedly away. Beside him, the head of Gulf's team p'Bermb is doing pretty much the same. Nong Stu's jaw is fully dropped. All of their managers. In Mew’s house. Uninvited, because Mew hadn’t been informed. Seems like everyone and their mothers have been keeping him out of the loop.

Mew sighs, pulling down Gulf's shirt for him. The rapper still looks half-dazed, eyes wide from surprise (and a little embarrassment), yet glazed over from pleasure.

"Someone better tell me what the fuck is going on."

* * *

This reads like an awkward family dinner, a cringey scene from some k-drama. P'Bermb is seated at the head of the dinner table with p'Best and nong Stu flanking him. Gulf and him are seated at the other end across each other, and  _ Mew's feeling very much like a rich entitled kid about to be thrust off into an arranged marriage. Gods, I’ve been watching too many k-dramas recently. _

Calmly, p'Bermb lays out the gist of the situation to them. (Though Mew feels like it's mostly for his benefit - everyone in this room seems to know what's going on, save him.) This fake relationship was to hide some dirt the media had dug on Gulf, and this was their only solution. The issue they're trying to hide is a relationship, or rather a past one.

"She's my ex-girlfriend." Gulf interjects. Is it just Mew, or is there a faint tremble in his voice? Fortunately p'Best takes over, filling in the rest of the details softly: apparently they'd separated quite a few months ago, so it's strange the media only caught wind of it now. She's a model, and is currently working with Playboy, hence the company's reluctance to reveal that relationship.

Mew raises a brow at the last bit.

"Why'd you break up with her then?" Gulf looks confused. "Come on, you can't tell me that a Playboy model isn't every rapper's ideal girlfriend."

Gulf looks at him head-on - it's the first time, usually whenever he sees Gulf he's looking down, and whenever they're fucking he's either looking at the back of Gulf's head or looking down with fluttering eyelashes as he lets out obscene moans.

"Don't reduce her to a Playboy model. She was way more than that." Mew wants to laugh at this rare display of emotion.  _ Why so defensive? _

"If you still give that much of a shit about her then why don't you just get back together with her, reveal that relationship, and defend her until the end. Seems like you would."

"I don't want to get back with her. And just because I'm not in a relationship with her anymore doesn't mean I can't care about her." Mew scoffs again.

"Since when did you care about people that you're not in a relationship with?"

"Always." Gulf says, and Mew almost laughs out loud.  _ If you're gonna keep preaching to the choir, then practice what you preach, for godssake. _

"So where do I come in? Why me?" Nong Stu shrugs when Mew makes eye contact with him, and he can see Gulf and p'Best exchanging suspicious glances out of the corner of his eye. Mew's annoyed.  _ Does everyone know something except for me? _

"Is no one going to tell me anything, for gods' sake." It's a statement, not a question. He must sound furious, because p'Best visibly flinches and even nong Stu looks shocked (despite witnessing Mew's stern side whenever things don't go according to plan).

"Because I trust you." Gulf finally says, and Mew slumps back into his chair.

"Bullshit." He says, but he doesn't push it any further.

* * *

They write out a plan of action. It's a numbered list, and Mew wants to laugh at the audacity of it all. This situation is messy enough as is, what's with the need to play-pretend with orderliness and numbers? Still, it seems to be comforting to the managers and Gulf, so Mew keeps mum.

The list is as follows:

  1. Date posts, with appropriately cheesy captions. At least once every few weeks, just to let the people know they're going strong.
  2. The next sappy love song Mew releases needs to have lyrics that sound like they could be for Gulf. ("Something about big eyes, soft lips, or whatever. You're the songwriter, I'm sure you know what to do." Mew rolls his eyes, replies "I'll churn something out post-sex", and relishes in the looks of embarrassment that come across everyone's faces. Gulf's ears are bright red.)
  3. Gulf needs to write a nice, soft rap song with romantic lyrics. (Mew has a whole retort on his tongue: _Why don't you just moan into the mic the way you moan when I fuck you?_ But Mew doesn't say it - barely catches himself - trying to keep his mouth mostly shut throughout the entire meeting because _neither of their managers know_.)



It seems absurd that just less than twenty-four hours ago, they'd just been fuckbuddies. And now they're discussing writing love songs about each other? And potential date locations? What the fuck.

Mew stands up abruptly.

"I need to go to the bathroom." He says, directing this more to Gulf than anything. He stalks off to the toilet, and Gulf must get the hint because he hears quick footsteps following his through the hallway.

Mew slams the door behind them, locks it, then double-checks the lock.

"This is bullshit." He says. He's said that far too many times over the course of the night. Gulf keeps quiet. Mew buries his head in his hands, momentarily anguished at the way that he is taking this harder than Gulf.  _ This shouldn't even have been my problem, what the fuck. _ "We're just fuckbuddies."

Gulf averts his eyes.

"I guess." Mew groans, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms and hoping that when he looks up, this will have been a dream. Reality's a bitch, though.

"We're just fuckbuddies." Mew repeats again, just to make sure of reality. Thinks about it. "We probably shouldn't fuck while this whole thing is going on."

"Huh?" Gulf looks visibly confused, bambi eyes wide.

"Come on, pretending to be dating while fucking on the downlow?" A thoughtful expression crosses Gulf's face.

"I think we can, phi. Real couples fuck, anyway."

"We're not a real couple." Mew hesitates. "...But I guess we should finish what we started earlier." 

"Whatever phi says." Mew raises a brow.

"Whatever I say?"

"Yeah. I'm a good boy, phi."

"Are you?" Mew's words trail off into a growl.

“For phi, always.” Gulf whispers against his lips.  _ Fuck. _ Gulf and his good boy agenda always get him. He wants nothing more than to fuck Gulf against the glass of the shower stall. Or in the kitchen, against the counters. Or on the dining table. Which reminds him.

"Shit, gimme a second." Mew mumbles against Gulf, leaving them with a final nibble at his plump bottom lip. Pulls his phone out of his back pocket and types a quick text.

**Mew**

can u n gulfs managers leave now

**Nong Stu**

Huh??

Why?

"P'Mewww" Gulf whines, pressing closer. The desire is clear in his wide eyes, and he’s clutching the collar of Mew’s shirt like it’s a lifeline.  _ Shia. _

**Mew**

just leave

**Nong Stu**

But nong Gulf is still in the bathroom

Oh

OH

Yeah okay

Lol

Have fun <333333

“Coast should be clear.” Mew pulls Gulf closer to him. “So, bedroom, living room, or kitchen?”

* * *

The outline doesn't do shit. Sure, it defines exactly what Mew and Gulf have to do to pretend they're in a relationship, but it doesn't do shit to help the fact that they aren't actually in a relationship. It’s going to be difficult.

“We should get started on that list.” Mew says. Gulf groans next to him, the metal of his nipple piercing catching the light as he rolls over. The bed is a mess, Mew knows he’s going to feel the burn in his thighs tomorrow, and there’s nothing more he wants to do than to go to bed, but. They’ve got a fake relationship to tackle.

“Come on.” He urges, and Gulf finally sits up, stretches his arms above his head like a lazy cat. They (read: Mew) clean up and settle in the dining room with paper and pens. Apparently Mew's dining room is now their official conference room. Makes for good rumours, p'Best had said. He'd shown them photos that paparazzi had caught of Gulf sneaking in and out of Mew's apartment.

"The fans are going wild." He’d told them.  _ I’m going wild, _ Mew thinks to himself.

Their first order of action is to post a photo of a heartfelt, handwritten letter and then a cute couple selfie. Gulf almost snaps the selfie without thinking, but Mew grabs his wrist before he can do it, tidying up Gulf’s hair so that it looks less post-sex hair and more my-boyfriend-likes-ruffling-my-hair. The state of their lips - Mew can’t really do anything about that, just pretend it was the result of making love and not a few rounds of hate-fueled sex. They send the resulting selfie off to their managers for approval before moving on to the letter.

Gulf seems to write his quite easily, but words just aren’t coming to Mew’s mind. The younger man’s halfway through his page before Mew even puts his pen to paper. Mew tries to subtly see what Gulf is writing, but all he can make out is “I hope you will understand” and “I love”. Forget it. He’ll check it on Instagram later, after he follows Gulf on there.  _ Right, social media.  _ Hoping to find some inspiration for his letter, he opens up his phone.

Mew checks his fans' reactions, because - well of course he does: he loves his fans and there's no way he's going to let a scandal that shouldn't even be his keep him from them.

He's happy to see that most of his fans are being lovely and are handling this quite well. Understandably, they’re quite shocked - just as shocked as Mew was - but they’ve banded together and promised to support Mew no matter what decisions he makes. They’ve trended  _ #SupportOurSun _ and are actively making sure Mew doesn’t see any hateful messages, which is reassuring. He’s grateful to have them.

However, there appears to be a very vocal minor that is ragging on Gulf and his career. Unable to help himself, Mew scrolls through all of the tweets, the Facebook comments, the Instagram posts, wincing as he reads some of them.  _ Gods, some people are vile.  _ No matter what ill feelings he has towards Gulf, he wouldn't wish any of these curses upon his worst enemy.

Mew sighs, burying his head in his hands. This is going to be far more difficult than he had anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- sorry if this chapter is worse than usual i just haven't been feelin it :((  
> \- p.s. find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/myu_gao)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- come chat w me on twitter to get earlier updates for this fic!  
> \- + more writing updates on there ;)

"Gods, I can't believe that the first day I'm sitting in a room with both of you, you're asking me to help you fake a relationship." Sitting across him at the dinner table, Mew scowls.

"Neither of us asked you for help." Mew says. To be more accurate, Mild had walked into their meeting and had been met with one frosty stare (courtesy of Mew) and one half-relieved half-confused expression (Gulf, of course). He'd taken a look at them, at the mostly blank piece of paper that was their 'brainstorming sheet', then immediately declared a state of emergency and that the two of them needed his help. Which was fair. The meeting had been going horribly prior. Mew still wasn't fully onboard with this whole fake relationship thing, and Gulf - well, when does Gulf not look vaguely confused?

Mild is a refreshing addition to the conversation, especially since he's so unbelievably enthusiastic. Without any prompting, he immediately rattles off at least five different date ideas, ten potential couple outfits (you guys can choose!), and practically an infinite number of details they can add to the backstory about their relationship. He's _ very _ enthusiastic, perhaps more so than either of them.

"Why don't you plan all our dates and everything we say in our interviews while you're at it?" Mew asks. His tone is mocking, but Mild doesn't really seem to care, jumping on board and offering to book the location for their first date.

"I feel like a relationship counselor." Says Mild with no little amount of delight, tapping rapidly on his phone. At least someone is enjoying this ordeal enough for all of them.

Mew sighs. This is taking on too much of a casual energy than he’d like. Discussing dates and couple outfits is cute and all, but it’s something he’d want from a relationship. Not whatever the fuck this is.

"Look. I'm glad you have those feelings, but this isn't even a relationship. And I'd prefer not to let the public know that much about our 'relationship'. Especially because we're not actually in one." In Mew's mind, it's pretty straightforward. There's no point of dillydallying around and creating details, backstories that don't really need to exist. He doesn't know how long these shenanigans are going to last, but not long enough for any sort of backlash to be worth it.

"Maybe this is a bad idea." Gulf says. His voice is hoarse - he hasn't talked in quite a while and his cup of water stands untouched on the table. Mew wants to scoff.  _ Wasn't this whole thing your idea in the first place? _ , he wants to say, but there's something in Gulf's expression that stops him before he can. He looks more beaten down that Mew would’ve imagined. Could it be that Gulf is taking this whole situation much more harshly than Mew is?

Perhaps he’s overwhelmed, going out of a breakup (which the public doesn’t even know about) to a very public but fake relationship - and to another man, no less. Mew doesn’t make a habit of trying to understand people anymore, but this. This he understands. So Mew swallows the retort that's so close to leaving his lips, crossing his arms and leaning back into his chair.

“Whatever,” he grumbles, “I guess since we’re in this situation already, we might as well make something of it. Try not to ruin our careers over a fake relationship.” Gulf winces again and Mew frowns.  _ What?  _ Mew’s being practical about the whole situation is all. Someone has to be.

* * *

Thankfully, they figure out most of their backstory in time for their first interview. Mew’s running the details over in his mind even as they standby in the waiting room.

“Let me handle it.” He’d told Gulf. “You don’t have to do anything, just let me handle it.”

Mew’s practised in front of the cameras. He knows he’s a dashing image on his pressed turquoise suit, and knows that him and Gulf make an attractive pair, with the latter in his pretty pink suit. It’s interesting that his management team finally decided to pull the  _ nice-guy _ spiel with this candy-pink outfit.

The most important thing is that he knows they make a pretty convincing couple right now. Mew’s taken a few acting classes in his life, and with his hand rested on Gulf’s knee and his entire body leaning towards Gulf, he knows he looks like the perfect, gentlemanly boyfriend. Like he’s hanging off his fake-boyfriend’s every word.

Gulf doesn’t really say anything. Which is good - Mew doesn’t know how good he is at masking his feelings from the public, at acting the part. But from what he knows of Gulf, the youngr man is a pretty honest person. And he’s pretty smart. After all, out of all people, he chose Mew to be his fake-lover, despite the bad blood between them. Maybe he knew 

Maybe he knew that Mew wouldn’t and couldn’t refuse him.

“So what’s it like being in a relationship with Gulf?” The reporter asks. Mew grins, a loose, engaging one. One of those that always works.

“Well - “

* * *

To be honest, they hadn't started off as enemies with benefits. They'd been something more like friends, platonic soulmates even.

In a twist most drama series would be proud of, Mew had been the one to reach out to Gulf. Mew doesn't usually listen to rap music - he didn't back then, and he still doesn't now.

But he gives Gulf’s a try and finds that the lyrics are less about sex, cars, and girls, and more about family, friends. He doesn't have many songs out, being a new artist, but what he does have is pretty good by Mew's standards. And Mew has pretty discerning standards, if he does say so himself.

So Mew reaches out, and they start up a conversation. Mew is intrigued by this new rapper, this silent man whose eyes are steadfast and words strong. On the other hand, Mew can’t even begin to imagine what Gulf must have thought of him.

Pretty funny how between them there are so many thoughts that have stayed as just that - thoughts.

* * *

Zom and Nice are already in the studio when he walks in. A quick evaluation of their expressions indicate that they’re probably not mad, but still. He honestly doesn’t know how exactly to read the expressions that are on their faces.

“Hi.” He says tentatively, slinging his bag over the back of his chair. The little panda keychain on it dangles sadly.

“So is this the stress-relief you were talking about the other day?” Zom raises a magazine. The front cover is the selfie they'd taken that day after the discussion. Mew peers closer at it. Yep, that's definitely a post-sex look.  _ There’s no escaping this conversation. _

“Yeah,” He admits honestly, “Sorry for not telling you guys.” Mew hesitates a little, considering, and decides,  _ fuck it. _

“But honestly, we’re not dating.” Zom looks surprised and Nice raises a brow. “We were just fuckbuddies.”

Zom’s eyes are wide. She keeps looking between Mew’s face and the front of the magazine in unconcealed shock.

“What?” Mew ruffles his hair.

“Yeah, it was like for some time.” He says vaguely. It’s been a pretty long  _ some time _ , but Nice and Zom don’t need to know that.

“Wait,” Nice drawls, “then why does the entire world think the two of you are boyfriends now?” 

“That’s what I want to know.”

Bad call - he should have just pretended, hinted that one of her vague theories could be correct. Because Zom's eyes get that glint in them, the way they always do when she gets an idea.

“What if there’s more to this?” Zom brings up an absurd scenario - what if there's more to this?  What if it's his managers? What if it's Gulf's managers? What if there's a secret relationship between their two companies? Or their managers?

“What if Gulf and his girlfriend are actually still dating?” Just the thought of that makes Mew want to barf, to be honest. He can’t stand cheating - any mention of it, or any thought of it. Mew doesn’t think Gulf is that kind of deceptive person, but who knows?

Zom tilts her head curiously, and Mew shrugs. He really has no idea.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m the one in a relationship I didn’t ask for, and I’m still in the dark like the rest of you.” Zom doesn’t seem to completely believe his answer, but she settles down. 

"Anyways," Mew says, "it's good that you guys are here - I wanted to ask for some advice."

"What about?" Zom asks, curious. Nice makes himself comfortable on the couch, legs slung over the arm on one side.

Mew sighs, presses the pads of his fingers together and drives it into his forehead as if that'll make the frustration and the persisting headache vanish. Doesn't work, of course. And Mew’s never been one to shy away from his problems.

"They told me to write a love song about Gulf," he's aware of exactly how absurd that sounds, "so we can push the whole relationship narrative."

"And what about it?" Nice already has his notebook out. Writing more lyrics, Mew supposes.

"I don't know." Mew swipes a hand carelessly over his eyes. "It's just really troubling me. Can't seem to figure out what to write." Zom raises a brow.

"The great Mew Suppasit, king of all ballad singers, not knowing how to write a love song?" When Zom says it aloud, it does seem kind of absurd. Despite his jaded personality, Mew's always been able to pull out the inner romantic in him especially for his songs. Part of it is a desire to be loved. Another p art of it is waiting, hoping that the right person will see the message underlying every tune he puts out, and come to him.

He's still waiting.

"Just write any love song" Zom says, “that should be fine, right?” Mew scoffs.

“Sure, but I’ve never had to write a love song against my will. Maybe if I just wrote a generic rap about sex…” Mew knows he’s being unfair, cruel even. He can’t help it - he doesn’t even want to be in this situation at all. Besides, wouldn’t it suit his and Gulf’s situation better? Since they’re fuckbuddies - or at least, they were. That ship has probably sank.

Zom frowns, and leans over to look at him closer. The wheels of the rolling chair scrape as she peers at him.

"No, I don't think so." She finally says, after a thorough examination of Mew's expression, "I don't think that's how you really feel."

"You're being quite mean to Gulf, aren't you Mew?" It sounds more like a statement than a question when she says it.

“He deserves it.” Mew mutters. No, if Mew’s honest. Gulf doesn’t really deserve it. But who else can Mew blame this on? 

“I don’t agree,” Zom says again, “the Mew I know is such a reasonable person. But from what I hear, I don’t think Gulf deserves the way you’re talking about him.”

“Things happened.” Mew says, but he doesn’t elaborate. Zom purses her lips but doesn’t say anything more. Thank goodness. Mew thinks if Zom asked him anything more, he’d bend and break. Trust Zom to really examine him and draw out every emotion Mew didn't know he was feeling.

_ A love song, a love song. _ Mew ponders it carefully, tries to take himself away from the situation and look at it from an outsider's perspective How would he write a love song for Gulf? The first place his mind immediately jumps to is the sex, lyrics about the way Gulf's lips look, the way he moans in bed, the way his eyes close when he climaxes, as if he's burning that sensation and that moment into the back of his eyelids.

But when he puts this all aside, tries to really think about the situation, he realizes he doesn’t want to think of Gulf like that. Mew buries his head into his hair and groans. If he looked up, he’d see Zom’s worried expression and the vaguely amused one on Nice’s. But Mew is getting somewhere, and deep in his mind, he forages on. Perhaps he's only thinking about the sex because it's the way he's forced himself to think about Gulf. To compartmentalize, to put their shared history aside and just think about the relationship he has with Gulf now.

He purses his lips in concentration. Zom’s stare burns into the side of his head. Nice has stopped writing lyrics and is also staring thoughtfully at him.

Here’s the kicker: Mew had used to like Gulf: when had all that like disappeared and become replaced with such a strong feeling of lust? He'd enjoyed their conversations at first: they’d talked about music, about the way they looked at life. About how much they cared about their families, about the dogs Gulf wanted to adopt.

"The conversations..." Mew mumbles, turns the idea around in his mind. He twirls his ballpoint pen in his fingers thoughtfully. He finally opens up a new page in his notebook, and with a hesitant hand, writes down the things they'd talked about, the thoughts and ideas they'd shared in those days. His pen moves faster and faster as it comes back to him. All the late night conversations they'd had.

Specifically that one night. Gulf had been in this studio, though he’s sure neither Zom nor Nice know. They’d snuck into Mew’s studio - this very studio - in the dead of night. It was their first time properly meeting, but they’d cracked open a bottle and had a good chat. One of those conversations about life that leaves you actually curious about the person you’re talking to, that leaves you feeling an unexplainably deep connection with them.

They’d never revealed their friendship, because to reveal it would have been to make it a performance. And though this fake relationship they’re in now is performative, their friendship, when they still had it, hadn’t been that way at all.

There’s almost something funny about it, the fact that they’d started fake dating each other, but Mew isn’t even sure if they like each other anymore. The thought of it makes him sick to his stomach, and he has to stop his frenzied writing and finally put his pen down.

* * *

Their first public date is an absolute mess. If one were to plot it out like a graph, it’d look something like a Freytag pyramid. 

It starts off absolutely bland. Nothing really happens, but that’s the problem. Him and Gulf are just seated across each other at the dining table, and there is silence in the air. At least they're in a Japanese restaurant, though Mew doesn't know whose idea it was, he silently thanks them in his mind. Still. The food’s not there, and there’s no option of having sex to fill the space in between him and Gulf because they’re in a public place.

_ Hm. Would Gulf be into exhibitionism, _ Mew wonders. He quickly reminds himself that their fuckbuddy agreement has essentially been blown to pieces by the root cause of this awkward, awkward dinner date.  _ Still. _

It gets better when the dinner comes, because then they at least have the food to distract themselves. Mew gets curry rice with tonkatsu, and Gulf chooses a tempura don. With a sated stomach, Mew is much more amicable, and he finds himself starting a conversation about this restaurant. It’s not bad, and ranks pretty well amongst the many Japanese restaurants Mew has been to. He just wants to share that with Gulf, that’s all.

Part of it is also a reminder to himself - Mew doesn’t hate the younger man. He just hates whatever it is, and like Zom had said, it’s unfair to take it out on Gulf. And once they get into conversation, Mew can barely harbour any thoughts of that sort, because it's like old times.

(Maybe it's because they can't substitute whatever they're doing with fucking like they always do, but that’s a thought for Mew to tackle another day.)

But then it all goes to shit when the fans finds them. Mew’s pulling a lot of weight in this date, because it’s him who notices it first, hears the barely-muffled squeal. Although every fiber of his being is telling him to jump out of his seat and run, Mew stands (or well, sits) his ground. This is a necessary part of their plan, to let the paparazzi and the fans help them prove their relationship to the world.

It’s still okay when a fan comes up to them. Mew greets them with a kind smile. unlike Gulf, who freezes with a spoonful of rice right next to his mouth. He keeps his eyes firmly on his rice, with his eyes occasionally flicking up nervously.

It’s different, however, when he receives a text from nong Stu.

**Nong Stu**

Careful

Lots of fans headed your way

We’ll be there soon

Mew’s immediately alerted, scanning their surroundings with a keen eye. At his movement, Gulf looks up from his phone too, eyes wide in alarm. Mew doesn’t dare turn around to glimpse whatever is outside the restaurant, but Gulf’s shocked expression says enough.

Fortunately, Mew and Gulf’s managers aren’t far off, and they’re ushered out the backdoor of the restaurant before the fans can get anymore pictures in. All in all, it’s a relatively tame encounter. However, Gulf must not have had many experiences like these, because he looks stricken. Leaning against the banister of the emergency escape and with the harsh yellow lights shining down on his face, Gulf’s eye bags are prominent, and he looks younger than Mew’s ever seen him.

How ironic that it should happen just when him and Gulf were getting along. Almost like a sign from the universe.

"This is a mess." Gulf says. It's the first words that have left his lips in a long time, and Mew is inclined to agree with him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- things are happeningggggg  
> \- also - 9 days until ttts2!! can't wait  
> \- stream missing baby and season of you!! give our boys the views they deserve!

Mew doesn’t know what he’d expected from her, but Gulf’s ex-girlfriend is very very pretty. He’d known she was a Playboy model, but up until now she’s existed as just some fragment of reality and another fragment of his overactive imagination. And he hadn’t even known about her back then.

But here he is, standing in Gulf’s doorway, Gulf’s hand on his bicep. The younger man’s got a thoughtful look on his face, the one he always has when he’s thinking way too hard about things he’s not going to say. She - the ex - is seated pretty on Gulf’s sofa.

“Hello, p’Mew.” She says, waving a manicured hand. Mew’s fingers are lax in shock, and he almost drops his car keys. If he’s honest, he’d had a day full of work yesterday, he’s exhausted, he just wants to do as he’d been instructed and end this day. No matter how good he is at getting his act together, in his current state of mind, Mew’s not sure he wants to face this situation.

Why do things never go to plan? He just wanted to pick Gulf up, get to his own event on the other side of town - foster their alibi and get to work, two birds with one stone. Mew’s even worn his sunglasses so he can roll down the window and wave Gulf goodbye as cameras flash around them. You know, Just good boyfriend things.

It’s weird. This is so weird. What would this look like from an outsider’s perspective? Gulf, his fake boyfriend, and his very real ex all in one room. They’re even standing in a triangle formation. Mew thinks the world plays strange tricks. To make things even stranger, the ex-girlfriend (or just girlfriend?) seems like she already knows him, and Mew gives Gulf a suspicious side-eye.

“Hi.” Mew’s voice sounds vaguely strangled even to his own ears. “Gulf. Can we have a talk.”

“Phi.” Gulf’s silent command is directed at the girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend? Who sighs, nods resignedly, and leaves quickly without further comment. Seems like she’s used to this kind of situation.

Mew waits for the sound of the closing door, then the closing elevator doors before he faces Gulf, backing him up against the wall.

“What the fuck?” He growls. They seem to be doing a lot of this lately, Mew pushing Gulf up against walls and demanding answers. Is  _ this _ his answer?

“Just stop the bullshit. You could have just told me if you were still with your girlfriend. You didn’t need to pull all this ex bullshit, just ask for a fake relationship to cover up your very real relationship. You couldn’t even give me that much?”  _ Fuck this shit.  _ If Mew’s risking his career for a lie, he’s gonna flip.

“I’m not a fucking joke for you to play with.” Mew rarely raises his voice, but he knows that when he does, he’s terrifying. Gulf flinches visibly, shrinking into himself. He doesn’t like loud noises, but Mew doesn’t really give a shit right now.

“I’d just like to know if I’m risking my entire career over trying to hide your little relationship.” He’s had enough with being made a joke of in the public eye, but that doesn’t seem to be enough. No, now people feel the need to fool him in his professional life. It feels personal, somehow.

“We’re just friends!” This exclamation, delivered several decibels higher than Gulf’s normal speech, makes Mew’s eyes widen just the slightest bit. He’d expected Gulf to shrink into himself. To deny having lied to Mew whilst continuing to lie to him.

“We’re still friends, I’ve been feeling shitty, so I asked her over to give me advice!” His chest is moving up and down, up and down. His breaths are heavy. Is this what Gulf looks like when he’s angry? Mew’s never seen it, only glimpses of it hidden in minute expressions and gestures. If Mew rarely raises his voice, Gulf does it even less. He’s never been confronted with this Gulf, and he doesn’t quite know how to respond.

“And I don’t get why you’re treating me like this!” The fight seems to go out of Gulf’s voice. “We used to like each other, didn’t we?”  _ We used to like each other.  _ The word “like” is innocuous but it keeps circulating in Mew’s mind. What did Gulf mean? Like friends? Like brothers? Like potential lovers?

Ugh. The migraine’s back. It’s like a fucking parasite these days, sucking the life force out of Mew. Well. It takes a lot from Mew to apologize, but he does it anyway.

“I’m sorry. I. I’ll do better.” It’s a short, stilted apology. It barely covers the cavern of space between them, the volume of it too built-up and too large to be fulfilled by a few words. But it seems to be enough, at least for now.

* * *

Mew hums a new melody as he turns into the car park right outside the venue. It’s been in his head since he first started driving, and he’s got to remember it. It feels very fitting, a melody fitting late nights and conversations. Conversations, huh.

Mew pulls out his phone and his earphones. Starts a recording and hums the tune into his phone, angling his body so he has a perfect view of the doors. It’s eleven pm, nearing midnight, but he can see a couple of Gulf’s fans still gathered there. The man himself is nowhere to be seen, though. Hm. Maybe this melody, this tune. This can be the one he gives to Gulf.

_ In ode of our fake relationship _ , Mew reminds himself. He’s always had trouble distinguishing the fake and the real, the professional and the personal. It’s been the backbone of his career in music, and the downfall of his own emotions, his own life.

Anyways. It’s strange that Gulf’s managers should have asked Mew to pick Gulf up from this event, especially given the small amount of fans loitering around the venue. It’s not enough for them to make it a scene, but too many for it to not be private. They’d said something about Gulf having a bad day. Mew doesn’t know why they told him that, and what they expect him to do about it.

Whatever - there are still a few fans around, and maybe this is part of the plan. A strategic move to make them seem not-so performative. Mew doesn’t fully understand the mechanics of fake relationships, but maybe their managers know better.

It’s weird seeing Gulf at this time of night, in a pressed suit. He’s stepping out of the doors with a weary look on his face and his favourite Louis Vuitton bag slung across from his shoulder to hip. It’s strange seeing Gulf like this, the black of his pressed suit reflected in the darkness of the sky above. Usually, if they were meeting at this time of the night, they’d be in one of their apartments with all the lights off (just in case), in some kind of filthy position. He has to admit, Gulf still looks good like this, pressed suit instead of birthday suit like Mew’s used to.

He admits so to Gulf when he gets in the passenger seat. Gulf looks away, out the window. His ears are red.

Gulf’s fans wave goodbye to them, standing respectfully from a distance. Mew rolls down the window so he can wave goodbye to them. Gulf waves coolly. Right. Sometimes Mew forgets Gulf’s bad-boy rapper persona. The fans snap some photos of them, and Mew hopes they turn out nice.

“Your fans are nice”, Mew tells Gulf. The younger man sighs.

“Yeah. They did stay even through our thing. Honestly, a lot of people left the fanclub after - after we revealed that. After our relationship - fake relationship - was revealed. But still.” Gulf admits, “I love my fans, but sometimes it felt like some of them saw me...in a box? I don’t know if it makes sense, but. I interact with people. My family. My friends. I have relationships. I don’t know why...why would being a celebrity make me…”

“Not a person?” Mew finishes. He knows that feeling, knows it all too well. Of being scrutinized. Of being pulled apart. By the haters, by the bystanders, by those who say they love you the most.

“I just don’t think it matters a lot, whether or not I’m in a relationship.” Gulf says. Mew agrees.

“Maybe it’s because they can’t believe we’re like regular people. We eat, we go on dates, we - “

“Have sex.” Gulf finishes. There’s a small smile on his face, like he’s pleased with his answer. Mew laughs.

“Right. It’s not like we change when we become idols. We become public figures, but public figures are still people.” Yes. That’s it. Mew is glad they’re on the same page.

* * *

A consequence of being forced together more is that they have to get used to each other, learn to tolerate each other’s presence. It’s almost like they’re roommates who hate each other. Cooped up within the same four walls for so long they can’t  _ not _ get along, at least on some level. Gulf talks more, Mew lashes out less, and on the whole, their conversations are more reminiscent of the way they’d used to talk to each other.

They’re more open and honest. Mew learns the full story about Gulf and his ex-girlfriend’s relationship. Apparently they haven’t been dating for quite a while - they’d been together Gulf’s first year of university, but quickly decided they were better off as friends.

“And it’s my fault she’s in this mess, so. I would understand if she was mad at me.” Their feelings towards each other are kind of ambivalent - his ex hates that she’s dragged into this mess, though she doesn’t resent Gulf and knows it’s not his fault.

“I kinda miss her.” Gulf admits. Misses her not as a lover, but as a friend. Feels guilty about everything that’s happening to her because of him - the Instagram DMs, the critique of her work, the constant, constant questioning.  _ We’re trying to be friends _ , Gulf says,  _ but it’s hard when it seems the whole world just wants us to hate each other. And those are just the few fans that know about our past relationship. _

_ Not really fans if they’re doing that _ , Mew wants to say. He keeps his mouth shut.

And Mew gets it, he really does. This he does tell Gulf. Tells him about his previous experience with a semi-public relationship. People knew we were dating, he tells Gulf, at least most people within the entertainment circle. Gulf looks confused, and Mew adds that Gulf hadn’t even debuted at that time.

Anyways, the public hadn’t known, but most of their inner circle did. They’d known vaguely about the dynamic of their relationship, knew that Mew had loved him like it was his last. The rest of the story is decidedly more tragic: they’d had an argument, and he’d rejected Mew publicly, come out with a blatantly fake story about being forced into something he hadn’t. Mew knows he would never, knows he’s not that kind of person. Most of his acquaintances had known that too. But that hadn’t stopped him from retreating every time someone wanted to touch him after that, almost as if his touch would scar them. That one rumour, that one relationship - for a few years, he thought it’d ruined his life.

So Mew has worked for a long time to get his reputation back where it is, and his mind back into a healthy state. Some of hIs older fans still remember those times, and they’re all the more protective over him for it. He knows they’ve always got his back, that they won’t let him get hurt again. But sometimes Mew wonders if he could even do that for himself.

“No one deserves to be hurt by their lover like that.” Gulf says, and the furrow in between his brows briefly appears again before he continues.

“I’m sorry, p’Mew.” He looks so earnest. His eyes are shining. They always do.

“For what?”

“For,” Gulf gestures vaguely, “all this.”

Mew looks at Gulf. There’s something inherently child-like about him. But he’s so strong. He doesn’t think he accepts Gulf’s apology. But still. Mew’s not thinking when he reaches forward. Almost instinct, the way his hands curl themselves around Gulf’s biceps, and tighten as he pulls Gulf in for a chaste kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

Mew takes in a deep breath, inhales the unique combination of light sweat, detergent, and what Gulf says is alum. Gulf twitches at the way Mew’s hairs tickle the bottom of his chin, though he isn’t ticklish.

“P’Mew” He moans through parted lips. Mew hasn’t not heard that sound for a long time, and his cock jumps in his pants. Some say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but Mew thinks distance makes arousal stronger in this case. It’s certainly what’s happening for him.

Mew hadn’t expected this at all. Hadn’t expected Gulf to reciprocate his kiss with an eagerness that hints he’s been waiting for this, hadn’t expected to end up in this situation - on his own couch, Gulf backed up against it as Mew hovers over him. It’s a Sunday night, for godssake. Not really the moment for ventures back into the passion nights they’d given up.

Still, Mew isn’t complaining. He’s got no right to, with how eagerly he kisses Gulf, sucking determinedly on his top lip. Gulf reciprocates, his arms over Mew’s shoulders and his tongue licking at the seam of Mew’s lips. Their bodies move together in remembered patterns - hands in each other’s hair, Mew’s left hand on Gulf’s waist, then Gulf’s hands linked on the back of Mew’s neck.

Gulf’s shirt has ridden up, a little bit of the soft, tan skin showing. Mew curls firm fingers around it, stroking the skin gently. Upwards, upwards, until he’s halfway up Gulf’s chest. He helps the younger man out of the shirt, repositioning them quickly and impatiently. Gulf’s already breathing heavily, drawing Mew’s attention to his chest, the way it heaves.

Gulf’s switched out the nipple piercing. It’s not the simple steel bar with two balls now, but one with two jewels at each end. Gorgeous, beautiful, decorative, like he’d been expecting someone to see it. A surge of heat and mindlessness rushes through Mew in that moment, and he bites around it gently, yet punishingly. Gulf curves his chest into Mew, as if answering  _ yes, yes, it’s all for you, _ begging for more attention like the good boy he is.

When he lays Gulf flat on the sofa, looms over him and stares into those wide eyes, he sees the same questions reflected in them.  _ What is this? What are we? _ But Mew doesn’t want to think. He wants to conquer, to devour, to punish.

_ “No one deserves to be hurt by their lover like that.” _

_ We were never lovers, either. So why and how did I let you hurt me so bad? _

When he surges back in, lets their lips and tongues connect in a moment of wet, loud passion, Mew doesn’t know who he’s punishing, himself or Gulf. But there is one thing he knows, that he’s subconsciously aware of. That the way he holds Gulf this time feels more like the way he used to hold his other lover. He purges those memories into the deepest part of the abyss, and involuntarily fills that void with these new ones, created with Gulf.

Mew takes a deep breath, and it feels like he’s breaking to the surface.

* * *

“You can stay.” Mew says this time, before Gulf can go back to the routine of awkwardly shimmying his jeans up his legs and darting out the front door with his metaphorical tail in between his legs. They’ve just finished, and even in the dim bedroom lights, Mew can see the beads of sweat on the younger man’s forehead. Gulf nods, the action small and barely perceptible, but he stays standing, hands floating uselessly at his sides. He looks lost, more lost than Mew’s ever seen him.

Mew sighs, beckons to him. He’s lounging comfortably in his pillows, a luxurious position considering their sexual endeavours probably take a lot more out of Gulf than him. (Or maybe it’s the other way round - Mew’s stamina is wearing a little short with age, though he hates to admit it.)

Gulf bounds over, a surprising amount of energy in his steps. Mew holds out an arm for him. He’s an asshole, but he does know some semblance of aftercare, just sometimes. But the way Gulf snuggles into it, almost half on Mew’s chest, does surprise Mew.  _ Like a cat coming home to its owner _ , his brain supplies. He can’t help it, the way his cheeks turn red. He’s glad Gulf doesn’t turn his head to see the incriminating evidence of his blush. Clears his throat awkwardly for want of something to do.

Mew’s eyes flicker down. Gulf’s pulled his boxers haphazardly over his hips, but he’s still shirtless. To the right, the yellow jewels are glinting at the sides of Gulf’s areola. Mew flicks it before he can really process what he’s doing, and chubs up a little in his own boxers when Gulf jumps, a short whine involuntarily escaping his throat.

“I’ve always thought,” Mew twists the nipple in between his fingers, watches it perk up. Gulf writhes. “It was interesting that out of all the piercings you could have gotten, you chose to get this?” Gulf’s unpierced ears gradually fill with a deep blush.

“I just wanted it.” Mew thinks Gulf says. The younger man’s voice sounds a little strangled, so he can’t be entirely sure. Mew flicks one of the yellow jewels, and Gulf bites his lip.

“It’s rare to see it on guys. But I like it.” That should be obvious enough with the way Mew keeps toying with it. He hasn’t been able to stop, not since the first time he’d pulled up Gulf’s shirt in that dingy toilet.

They relapse into silence, but it’s a comfortable silence. Mew plays with the piercing until the surrounding area is red and swollen again. Satisfied, he then moves to Gulf’s hair, playing with the soft strands between his fingers. So what if Mew’s a little more than soft during post-coital cuddles? Gulf certainly has no problem with it, if the way he sighs into the air is any indication.

“This feels like before.” Gulf says softly, picking at the edge of the blanket. They both know exactly what Gulf means when he says  _ before _ . He’s talking about before this fake relationship, before they were fuckbuddies, before they even hated each other at all. Mew stiffens. The air is suddenly cold - Mew must have turned the temperature too low. 

He can’t outright deny it, so he doesn’t.

“Hm.” Mew hums noncommittally. He’s already closed his eyes, so it’s easier to pretend to be asleep. Gulf’s weight is a comfortable presence on his shoulder, like a warm version of the soft pillows beneath him. Everything is so warm. Mew shuts his eyes and floats away in the seas of his mind.

* * *

“Sorry I’m late!” Mild bursts through the door, panting and sweating from the hot Bangkok weather. Mew looks up from his script.  _ Is adding one more Stamp Apiwat song to the setlist too ridiculous? _ Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his managers and staff sighing in relief as MIld finally arrives.

They’re planning for Mew’s solo concert today - it’s going to be a big affair, and Mew’s determined to make it the best experience possible for all parties involved. So far he’s looked at lightstick designs (which his fans have been asking for for the longest time), the venue (the biggest Mew could find) and last but certainly not least, the setlist (which he’s  _ still _ thinking about). And now that Mild’s here, they can talk about the script and MCing.

“Are you gonna be late on the actual day?” Mew raises a brow in the way he knows makes him look especially intimidating, but it’s all in good fun. Mild knows Mew wouldn’t replace him.

“Where would you find another MC as good as myself, pray tell?” Mild teases, taking his seat. Mew  _ hmph _ s, nodding in acknowledgement. No one else could possibly MC Mew’s solo concert as well as he knows Mild will.

“By the way, who’re our guests for the concert? Perhaps...our favourite rapper?” Mild waggles his eyebrows, and someone else in the room clears their throat pointedly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Mew replies, trying his best to keep a straight face.

“Come on,” Mild exclaims, “It’s on the script already, see? Special guest - Gulf Kanawut.” Sure enough, it says as much on the last page.  _ Special guest: Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong.  _ It’s not a decision Mew remembers making, though.

“How and why did this get on here?” Mew asks, a near-growl at the end of his question. He sees Nong Stu exchange a guilty look with someone else across the room.  _ Oh my gods. _

“I don’t know ‘how’, but the ‘why’ is obvious! You guys are boyfriends, right?” Mild’s eyebrow-waggles get even more outrageous. If Mew wasn’t in a room full of staff members that don’t know about the true nature of his and Gulf’s relationship, he’d have corrected Mild immediately. As it stands, all he can do is smile tightly and nod tersely. The staff don’t seem to see anything wrong - in fact, a couple of them are in the corner giggling about how  _ fin _ their concert moments are going to be.

Sometimes Mew’s a little disturbed by how fast the world has accepted their relationship, especially as of late. And it’s not just by their fans, though that’s still surprising - both of them have strong and relatively nice fanbases, and they’d accepted the two’s ‘relationship’ with open arms.

No, it’s not just that. The number of times him and Gulf have gotten invitations to go on shows and talk about their relationship is frankly a bit outrageous. Some variety shows have even invited them on as a duo. It’s crazy, p’Bermb confirms.

“ _ In all my years of working show business,” _ he’d said, “ _ I’ve never seen the public and the entertainment circle take to a relationship so quickly.” _ That’s good, Mew supposes. He doesn’t know quite what to make of it, and he hasn’t gotten much time to think about it anyways. Between going on shows and his upcoming album, Mew’s been swamped with work. It’s what he wants to do, and he hasn’t really got time for anything else. Speaking of time - they should probably get on with this meeting.

“So, let’s start reading through this script…”

* * *

Mew’s back in the studio, this time alone. The ideas are rampant in his head, but they’re floating about listlessly, and Mew is struggling to concretely grasp any of them. He plays with the pen in his hand, spinning it about as he tries to capture those words he’s looking for.

Where to begin, where to begin.  _ Just let yourself think, Mew. _ That’s what he tells himself as he leans back into the chair, steepling his fingers. It’s Gulf’s song he’s trying to work on - the one his managers have been hounding him about - so he draws on that image. Gulf - what does he think of when he thinks about Gulf? He thinks about his life in general, if he’s honest. It’s probably because Gulf has been such a big part of his life lately.

And Mew’s not going to lie, things are better. The music he’s creating lately has been taking on a little more soul. They’re not just songs about love and romance, but about family, about the way Mew views the world - it feels more like Mew and not just an image of himself he keeps projecting. It’s almost like he’s shedding a shell.  _ The perfect Mew will be gone _ . He always knew Elsa had a point.

Mew stares at his keyboard piano, then back at the melodies he’d scribbled down on his notebook. He hasn’t gotten anywhere with those. Flips back a few pages where he’d written down potential lyrics, just words and phrases he’d found in the corners of his mind.

The words he’d written that day when Zom and Nice had confronted him stare back at him.  _ Conversations, what we used to be, changes. _ Many more words and phrases like that, written then quickly scribbled out.

It feels like the song is taking shape, somehow, somewhere. It’s coming together, but why does Mew still feel so confused? When he closes his eyes and really lets himself imagine, he can see it, feel the edges of it in his mind’s eye. But when he opens his eyes and tries to put it into words and into melodies, the feeling’s gone.

When he closes his eyes for a second time, there are different images in his head. For some reason, Gulf’s girlfriend. How is it that he’s only met her once, yet she’s here haunting the recesses of his mind? She flits around, images of her combining with images of Gulf. Them together. She reaches his shoulder, he has an arm around her. How they must have looked on dates. The aquarium? They seem like that type of couple.

Mew hates to admit it, but he sees why they were together, those two. 

It’s become somewhat of a ritual to haunt himself, think of those two and how good they must have looked together. It’s amusing, in the saddest of ways. How ironic that Gulf should have had a better previous relationship than Mew, who makes a living off love songs.

Mew looks back at his computer, at the list of songs he’s planning to put in the next album. He has a vague idea of how he wants this album to flow, and he’s put some songs in place already. Most of this album’s songs are done, and they’re just sitting on his desktop waiting. Gulf’s track is the only one missing.

To be honest, Mew could just write any love song, slap a few exceptionally sappy lyrics onto it and send the album off. Maybe something about wide eyes, strong brows, long limbs entangled with his own. That doesn’t encapsulate it all, but it would do as a shallow reflection of their relationship.

But for some strange reason, Mew feels like he owes this to Gulf. For this song, Gulf’s song, he wants to convey the true feelings in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- lots of countries are going back into lockdown lately/experiencing a new wave of covid-19 cases, so please stay safe everyone!  
> \- check out my twitter for writing updates + mewgulf goodness~  
> \- [twitter](https://twitter.com/myu_gao)


	6. Chapter 6

It feels good to be getting sex on the regular. Mew hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it, but there’s something about skin-to-skin touch that other forms of human contact just can’t replace. He wraps his arms around Gulf's bare torso, fingers tapping idly at the tattoo over his heart. Sighs in satisfaction. It's been so long since he's been able to cuddle so much, and he's only now realizing how touch-starved he was.

The relationship that they've been nurturing behind the cameras has definitely changed. In bed, the aftercare has become a regular part of what Mew can now call their routine. It's nice, honestly. Mew hasn't just missed the feeling of post-coital cuddles, but the feeling of being able to take care of someone after he's thoroughly pleasured them. He's always taken pride in being an attentive lover, after all.

Simultaneously, Mew's discovered Gulf's the type to take it and take it well. He's not only receptive but willing to embrace Mew's care whether it's in the bed or out of it. During their dinner "dates", Mew finds himself leaning over the table to wipe a stray crumb off Gulf's mouth more often than not. It feels comfortable, feels like within their relationship, they're both slipping naturally into roles they were meant to have.

And it's not only their real relationship that's changed, but also their relationship in front of the cameras. Since they've made falling into bed together a regular thing, they've changed up their original plan to accommodate this. Their performative date nights now always happen before they're planning to spend the night together.

And now they can casually head home together without even trying to hide, just because they want their relationship to be out there. If one of them suddenly suggests taking food pics or even a selfie, they just take it. There’s the underlying assumption that it’s for a storage of photos they can upload later on. Just proof photos, a staple of every fake relationship.

After their dinner dates, they just go home (home being either one of their apartments) and have sex. Usually cuddle a bit afterwards. It’s quite a good routine, and Mew likes routine.

He’s pretty sure their managers know about the reasons why they’ve changed the plan like this, pretty sure they know they’re fucking behind the scenes. But they respectfully don’t say anything, and neither Mew nor Gulf say anything. Works good enough for Mew.

* * *

Mew’s happiness leaks into his work, and it's showing in the studio. The tracks he’s producing are better, he’s working efficiently, more productively. And it's not only him that notices.

"Ooh, Mew, what's up with these tracks lately?" One of said tracks is playing in the background at the moment, "It sounds like you're in loveeee!" Zom gives him a wink, which Mew pointedly ignores. There's nothing vaguely wink-able about this. Mew's just been having a good few days. Besides, attributing his recent creative successes to love? Zom's always been a touch idealistic.

"No, I'm getting sex." Mew answers, penning down a few more lyrics into his notebook. It's almost filled by now, bursting at the seams with new melodies and lyrics.

"You're cheating on Gulf?" Mew almost chokes on his green tea at Zom's question.

"What? I'm not!" Mew has no idea why he's denying this so strongly, "I'm telling you I have sex with Gulf." Zom pulls a face.

"Eww, p'Mew. I didn't need to know that."

"You asked. Plus, don't call me phi." Mew grumbles. He busies himself with scribbling down a few more lyrics, managing to get a few more lyrics in before he looks up to see Zom right in front of him. There's an eerie-looking smile on her face - it's the smile she always has whenever she's about to confront Mew about something.

"What do you want?" Zom doesn't reply, just giggles and nods in understanding. She must be nodding to herself, because Mew has no idea what's going on. "Seriously, whattt?"

"Nothing, just. You and Gulf are really cute." If Mew colours, he pretends Zom can't see it, immediately looking back down at his notebook. _Are they cute?_ Mew's never noticed.

* * *

Mew gets an idea in the middle of one of his and Gulf's cuddle sessions, and immediately darts out of bed to look for his notebook.

"Alai wa, p'Mew?" Gulf sits up in bed, rubbing at his eyes and looking vaguely disgruntled to have his cuddle time interrupted.

"Got some lyric ideas." Mew says, scrabbling at the bottom of his backpack for a pen and his notebook. Finally finding his favourite ballpoint pen in some tiny corner, he fishes that and his Moleskine out with a satisfied smile. When he turns around, Gulf is staring very fixedly at where Mew was bent over. To be more specific, where Mew's bare ass had been a few moments ago. Gulf blushes when Mew catches him in the act, the shells of his ears turning a furious shade of rose.

He settles back into bed with Gulf on his chest, resting his notebook on the top of Gulf's wavy locks as he jots down a few words.

"How's your song coming along?" Mew asks. Gulf looks at him blankly. "The songs we were supposed to work on for each other?" A knowing, proud expression comes across Gulf's face.

"I took part in producing the beat," Gulf tells him, "and I'm almost done with the lyrics." That's way more than Mew's managed to accomplish. He's so tempted to ask for a teaser (and he knows Gulf would immediately spit a few bars just to please Mew no matter how embarrassed it would make him), but Mew's always liked surprises.

"How about you, phi?" Gulf asks, tilting his head up to look at Mew. As he moves his hair tickles against Mew's pecs, and he places a hand on Gulf's head to steady him.

"It tickles!" Mew exclaims, and Gulf smirks as he purposefully rubs his head on Mew's pecs a couple more times. Mew breaks out into laughter, buries his face in Gulf's hair to try and hide. "Sho cute." He mumbles.

"Anyways, phi. Your song?" Mew flips idly through the pages of his notebook. Crossed out lyrics and notes stare back at him. Less of those in more recent pages as everything has started to come together.

"It wasn't going that well, originally," Mew admits, turning back to his notebook and instead seeing Gulf, who's looking up at him with wide eyes. "But it's going better now. Much better."

* * *

The dim lights cast an awkward shadow over p'Best and Mew as they sit by side in the waiting room. Mew's got his earphones in, listening and re-listening to parts of his latest song, occasional editing and re-arranging parts of it. P'Best is typing something on his phone, perhaps updating Gulf's instagram page with his latest endorsement. Gulf himself is still on stage, performing one of the songs off his latest album. Mew would be watching him backstage, but he sorely needed to make some progress on his album.

He's still in the pressed white suit he'd worn for his performance, but it's starting to get a little uncomfortable in the few hours he's been waiting for Gulf. The younger man had mentioned wanting pad kaprao the other day (though when does he not?), and, well, with the amount of inspiration Gulf's been giving Mew lately, Mew thinks he deserves to be treated to some good food.

The stuffy white suit otherwise, the atmosphere in the waiting room is awkward with just him and p'Best there, and Mew thanks the gods he'd had the insight to bring his music equipment along. It's not like he's awkward with Gulf's managers - with how much he sees them, that's sort of impossible. Still, even with all the small talk Mew makes, he's conscious of the reality of it - he and Gulf’s managers know each other through work, but that’s where it ends.

He doesn't know how much Gulf's managers know about their relationship. But if there's one thing Mew's learned it's that it's better to be safe than to be sorry, and he's not going to jeopardize his or Gulf's careers anymore than they've already been jeopardized.

Except today Mew has something to ask of p'Best. He takes his earphones out and coughs to clear the air and catch the man's attention.

"P'Best, is Gulf free on this date, around a month from now?" The concert date. Though his team had put Gulf's name on the script with the expectation that he'd be there, the reality was Gulf hadn't even been invited yet. P'Best checks his phone.

"He has an event earlier on in the day, but he's free later in the afternoon and at night." Perfect. So Gulf will be free exactly when the second round of Mew's concert is beginning. There seems to be a knowing edge to p'Best's voice, but Mew can't be sure.

"I'd like to invite Gulf to be a special guest at my concert," Mew tells p'Best, "It's on that exact date, at around seven pm at night."

"It all fits in with the schedule, but you should ask Gulf instead." Even as p'Best says that, he's locking the event into Gulf's calendar.

"Um. But you've put it in already? Are you sure you still need me to ask him?" Mew asks, confused. There's a moment of silence as p'Best searches for the right words.

"I think it’d mean more if the invitation came from you directly." P'Best says, looking at Mew meaningfully. Mew nods thoughtfully - that's definitely the more respectful option, and Mew is almost a little ashamed he hadn't thought about that.

"I'll do that." He tells p'Best. _I'll ask him soon_ , Mew promises himself as he goes back to working on his music. _Sometime soon._

* * *

They're curled up in post-coital bliss - Mew's on his side, left arm slung over Gulf. The younger man is facing him, though his eyes are averted as if he's shy. The red flush from earlier is still present on his mole-dotted chest. Mew's eyes flicker subconsciously to the tattoos decorating Gulf's body, his fingers reaching up to stroke gently at the inked skin.

Tries to document all the details in his mind. The phases of the moon on his left collarbone. Two names, across his heart. Three intertwined flowers on his right forearm. A rose on the side of his ankle.

"Tell me about them." Mew says quietly. In the intimate space between them, his words feel precious, weighty. Like he's asking for more than just an explanation, but an exploration into a part of Gulf's life he's never known before.

"These," Gulf guides Mew's hand towards the tattoos over his heart, "these are my mom's and dad's names." Gulf's skin is smooth to the touch, his heartbeat strong and steady under Mew's palm.

"What about your sister?" Mew asks. Gulf stretches out his right forearm. _The three flowers are his family's birth flowers,_ he explains, and goes into detail about each flower and the meaning behind it.

"You must really love your family." Mew says. Every tattoo Gulf has pointed out so far is a tribute to family, the same way his rap songs are.

"I do. They mean the world to me." Gulf says earnestly. Mentally, Mew applauds Gulf's parents. _You've raised a good son._

"They've raised a smart boy, too. I don't see any couple tattoos." Mew teases. He's always thought those tattoos were something like a curse - familial love, in the best of cases, is eternal. Romantic love? Eternal is a big word for it. Gulf, however, has a thoughtful expression on his face.

"One day, if I date someone and I feel like they're my forever someone, I want to get a tattoo of their name in Japanese. On my ribs." Mew raises a brow.

"Forever is optimistic, and that's a very specific tattoo for a very specific spot." Mew comments, tracing his index finger down the side of Gulf's ribs, where the ink would go. "Plus, I like Japan a lot, but even I don't like Japan enough to do that."

Gulf laughs out loud.

"P'Mew knows me so well." He admits he wants the tattoo because Eden Hazard, his favourite footballer, has a ribcage tattoo of his son's name in Japanese. Mew can't help laughing along with him. That does sound very Gulf.

"Well, hopefully you'll meet that person soon." Mew says, giving a big yawn.

"I hope so too." Gulf whispers. Mew nods in approval, resting his head against Gulf's chest and letting the steady heartbeat lull him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- gulf my boy...just get one(1) tattoo or one(1) piercing and i'm telling you you will BREAK the internet  
> \- ALSO TTTS2 EP 1 TOMORROW LKGHLJAK I'M SO EXCITEDDDDD LET'S GOOOO  
> \- check out my twitter for writing updates + mewgulf + just incoherent nonsense tbh~  
> \- [twitter](https://twitter.com/myu_gao)


	7. Chapter 7

It is a very good Wednesday until Mew encounters her. Today he'd managed to wake up without an alarm, which is always a plus. He'd snuck in a workout before his first public event, and after that he'd even found the time to pop over to his family home and play with Chopper. So later, when his mom had asked him to go pick something up from the market before going to a project meeting, he'd been more than happy to oblige.

Except now, he curses that decision. All Mew had wanted from the market was a few onions, just like his mother had requested. Yet what he finds there - or who finds him there - very decidedly interrupts his mission, and interrupts what would have otherwise been a peaceful day.

"Gulf's p'Mew." He hears her say, and Mew whips around so fast he almost stumbles on his feet. It's Gulf's ex-girlfriend - of course it is, because the world has always had a fondness for pushing Mew into situations and confrontations he never wanted. Shocked, Mew can't even pretend not to know her. By the look on her face and the confidence in her posture, he wouldn't have been able to get away with it either.

Mew doesn't know anything about Gulf's ex-girlfriend other than what he'd learned during their first meeting. He knows she's a pretty, youthful Playboy model whom Gulf had dated a few years prior, but beyond that, he knows nothing. He doesn't know how important their relationship was to the both of them, though judging by how much Gulf respects her, it must have been. He doesn't know how they came to be, how they were, or how they ended. He doesn't know if Gulf still meets with her, if they still keep in contact.

"I've heard a lot about you." _From who?_ She stops for a brief moment, like she doesn't really know where she'd been going. In spite of this, she doesn't falter, crosses her arms like an infuriated teacher about to address an entire class. Her next words drive a chill through Mew.

"If you don't treat Gulf well, you might as well give him back to me." She pokes a manicured finger into his chest, but Mew doesn't feel it, not with the way his heart simultaneously falls to the bottom of his stomach. _What? You're broken up already, and I won't give him back to you._ And, more importantly - not treating Gulf well? Has he not treated Gulf well? Mew may have a biased perspective, but the way he's been treating Gulf recently is above and beyond, for fake-boyfriend standards. If those even exist.

"W-What?" Mew finally croaks out, at a loss.

She glares at him. Mew hesitates, blinks several times as if she'll disappear in front of his eyes if he does it enough. He taps his fingers at the side of his thigh, suddenly filled with a nervous tension he can't quite dispel. She must notice the real shock (combined with a twinge of fear) in his eyes, because she softens a little, dropping her arms back to her sides.

"Relax. I'm not going to take him away from you, no matter how much of a dumbass you are." _I am a dumbass_ , Mew repeats mindlessly, but he catches himself. _Gods_ , what's wrong with him? "It's just - " she seems to be at a loss for words again, but just a brief moment, "if you keep fucking playing him like this, I swear I'm stepping in."

 _What?_ This just gets stranger and stranger. Mew should reply with something, anything. _What do you mean, playing him? Why would you step in? This isn't any of your business. Why are you here, with his name still on your lips?_ The moment Mew thinks he's got a grasp on what she's talking about, she seems to dart in the other direction. It's like Mew's been frozen, left to stand and stare as she glares at him one last time before turning on her heel and leaving just like that, the diminishment of her figure in the distance proportional to the confusion growing dark in the pit of Mew's chest.

* * *

"Fuck, p'Mew" _P'Mew_ , _Gulf's p'Mew._ Isn't it strange, that even as Mew is balls deep inside Gulf, he can't stop the way Gulf's ex's words float around in his head, haunting him? Or is it ironic? Who knows. All he knows is the way his fingers grip so tightly around Gulf's waist they're sure to leave marks. He sucks a hickey into Gulf's tattoo, wills the resulting mark to be darker than the dark of the ink. Pushes the younger man against the kitchen cabinets, placing a hand next to his head for leverage.

They're in the kitchen because Mew couldn't wait, had pushed Gulf straight from the front door into the first room along the hallway, held him against the kitchen door and sucked his top lip until it was swollen and the surrounding skin was a faint red. He's been told he's a naturally warm person because of the passion and the drive that burns inside him, but the way Mew is moving today, heated and possessive, is more than just that.

"Gulf" Mew groans, momentarily detaching his lips from Gulf's skin to look him square in the eyes. _Do you know,_ Mew wonders, _do you know how I felt when she said that if I wasn't treating you well, I should just give you back to her?_ Gulf's eyes are dark with lust, his pupils fully blown in arousal. _Would she say that I treated you badly if she saw you like this? Desperate, debauched?_ Mew flexes his fingers, feels the blood course through his veins. _Would she say that if she knew I was the only one who could ever make you feel this good?_

"P'Mew," Gulf moans, tugging at his piercing with sweaty fingers. Twists it around, makes himself moan even louder as the metal brushes against his sensitive nerves. It's a trick he's learned from Mew, a trick that's almost a cheat with the way it draws Gulf to the precipice of orgasm. Mew bites another mark into Gulf's nape, this time a reward. _You've learned well_ , he thinks, and creates a new mark right next to his previous one.

Gulf traces over those same marks when they're lying together that night. A pack of condoms and a bottle of lube lie on the bedside table, the former down to half a box and the latter completely empty. Mew's room is as it always is, and though the stars are brighter than usual Mew can't help the way his gaze wanders back to Gulf. There's almost a child-like innocence to the way Gulf pokes and prods at the bruises Mew's left on him, presses into the marks like a little boy playing with fire.

"Are you still," Mew swallows a little before he has the gusto to continue his question, "are you still in contact with your ex?" Gulf stills, the pads of his fingers still on the shades of red Mew has left on his neck. He buries himself further into the cool sheets and away from Mew, and Mew reaches out to touch his hair as if even one moment without contact will destabilize him.

"You saw she was over that night." Mew nods. He definitely remembers that. "I haven't seen her since then. She gives me advice, sometimes."

"Hm." Mew - he believes Gulf, but there's still a bit of unease picking at his mind. Gulf must sense something - the confusion, the unanswered questions.

"We're only friends, phi. I just ask her for advice because she's older and wiser" Gulf smiles, rolls his eyes at that word, "and that's how we've always been. But that's it, phi, I promise." _I'm older and wiser too,_ Mew thinks, unconsciously pouting.

"You can ask me for advice too." He says as much. Gulf smiles at him, though it looks a little like a smirk.

"Of course, phi." Mew's worries are alleviated, for the most part. But in the back of his mind, he can't help thinking about what Gulf must have told her. He runs a hand through Gulf's hair and wonders: _How much of you do I actually know?_

* * *

The rooftop is always empty at night, and it's always one of Mew's favourite spots in moments when he needs to think or to escape. The crisp night air is cool but not cold against his face - curse Bangkok weather. Mew's iPad Pro is tucked under his arm, and he's got a flask of green tea in his other hand.

It's hard to feel productive sometimes, though productivity is something Mew knows he's good at and prides himself on. Prior to escaping here for some reprieve, Mew had been sitting listlessly in his studio, occasionally clicking his mouse and typing on his keyboard without actually getting very much done. Still, in the fresh air of the night, Mew feels a little better.

Tonight, his goal is to draw something for his concert merchandise, maybe a few graphics, or sketches of possible products if he's feeling particularly inspired. He knows the logical route - and the one most other singers take - would be to get a designer to do it for him. But this is for Mew's concert, and one thing Mew's always prided about himself as a celebrity. He may be a celebrity, but that doesn't mean he can't be genuine with his fans. He wants to give back to his fans as much as they've given to him, by putting his heart into everything he produces.

Mew lies on his back against the wooden floor and stares up at the sky, at the moon that hangs elegantly within that dark, dark canvas. So far his concept's always been the moon. It suits him, suits his image. Mew's never been an expert in literature, but even he knows the moon is a symbol of love. He sees it sometimes: the elusiveness of lovers who have not yet touched hands, the purity of a new relationship, and the beauty of a union, of star-crossed lovers.

Yet for Mew, it's always meant something a little more than that.

To him, the moon has always also been a symbol of loneliness. It's not a star nor a planet, just a lonely astronomical body, set to sink before the break of dawn. During the night, it drifts all by its lonesome up in the dark, dark sky, with no mission and no destination, and no companions to light up its way.

If Mew could reach out to the moon, feel the bumps and curves of its uneven surface, would he be able to quell the loneliness that rests in his heart and in the isolated night sky?

* * *

"P'Mew!" Mew and his managers turn around in unison. It's a Thursday morning, and Mew's on his way to a radio interview. He's in his favourite white beanie and a matching white hoodie, and he's feeling the very definition of comfortable. And today the voice that calls out to him is not an unfamiliar one.

Mew immediately recognizes the woman standing a respectful distance away as one of his long-time fans, vaguely remembers seeing her face in the crowd ever since his first official single _Season of You_.

"Hello!" He greets. She blushes.

"Oh my gods I didn't think I'd ever get to talk to you one on one, I'm kind of panicking, oh no!" She covers her mouth in embarrassment and Mew smiles fondly.

"Thank you for making your music and sharing it with us. I'm honoured to be able to hear phi's songs. And...um, this may not be my place to say, but recently phi looks really happy, and smiles a lot more." Her cheeks are very, very red. "If you could pass on the message for me...I'm very thankful for khun Gulf Kanawut, because I think he makes you really happy, and that makes _me_ happy."

Gulf...makes him happy? Does he? Honestly, his fans - who are so careful, who pay attention to his every move - they would know better than him. Mew himself has never noticed any of these things in particular - he's detailed in his work but not always in the way he feels. He's a gut-feeling sort of guy, and those have never really required the precise process of narrowing down the source of one's happiness.

He remembers what Zom had said that day in the studio. She'd said something along the lines of his music being better - better since Gulf, she'd implied. The reason behind it - could it be what his fan had pointed out? She'd said Gulf makes him happy, that he smiles more often.

Maybe that's a concrete criterion he can use, test the hypothesis one of the people that knows him the most has put forth. If he smiles when he thinks of Gulf, that means Mew is happy, right?

Mew lifts a hand to his lips, his breath bated. Touches the soft skin. Sure enough, his lips - they're curved up in a smile.

* * *

"I wonder," Gulf looks up from where he'd been playing a game of ROV, "if we were really dating, what anniversary would we be celebrating?"

From the poorly disguised shock on Gulf's face, it's clear he hadn't expected Mew's question.

"Around three or four months? I don't remember, phi." Gulf says, fingers still tapping urgently on his phone. His movements are a little stuttered, and Mew recognizes the tone of his voice as the one Gulf defaults to when he most definitely remembers something, but doesn't want to admit it. _What do you have to hide?_

"But if we want to be technical, phi, I think it's been two years?" Mew doesn't catch most of this last part, having shifted his focus to penning down song lyrics. _What would a couple of three or four months think about each other? What would they want to say to each other?_

“Wait, Gulf?” He tries asking the younger man. But it's too late - Gulf has finished his ROV game, and is already lying with his head slumped against the wall, deep in slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- guys...that shower scene from ttts2 ep 1...it still haunts me ngl  
> \- hehe anyways check out my twitter for writing updates + mewgulf + chill times tbh~  
> \- [twitter](https://twitter.com/myu_gao)


	8. Chapter 8

_ Time really has passed,  _ Mew thinks. It doesn’t feel like it when you’re in the moment, but when Mew counts it out on his fingers, he finds it’s almost been a whole six months since the start of his and Gulf’s fake relationship.  _ Six months. _

For a normal couple, this would be a momentous occasion. A whole half year! That’s not a long time, but it’s a pretty sizable amount. A sign of serious commitment, in most relationships besides theirs. Mew scrolls down his Instagram, at all the new photos: one of a dinner table, two plates set across from each other for a romantic dinner. One of Gulf and him, smiling tiredly at the camera whilst waiting for the end of a schedule. The contrast is big in this photo - Gulf in his leather jacket, ripped jeans, and Mew in his soft pink suit, white turtleneck. Another one, of Gulf doing an over-exaggerated lip bite at Mew whilst the latter stared back at him in confusion. Gulf had gotten a lesson on what biting his lips unnecessarily  _ and  _ in public would do to Mew. Mew smirks at the memory.  _ Oh, he’s learned well. _

The likes are at their peak, and the comments under each post are overflowing. Fans gushing over how cute they are, how they’re the epitome of “opposites attract”, how they want to see more of them.  _ Ah, right.  _ The fans will probably be expecting him to do something for their supposed six months together, with Mew being the Thailand’s prince of ballads. So Mew should be preparing something, right?

It’s this thought he has in mind when he starts searching up anniversary celebration ideas. It’s been a long while since he’s prepared this sort of thing, even though he’d always prided himself on being a romantic lover. Mew laughs a little despite himself. He’s such a good fake-boyfriend sometimes, it’s scary.

* * *

No one else really knows, but Mew and Gulf used to be friends. Then they weren’t. One could say they simply drifted apart. One could also say it was because of work. Just life, getting in the way of friendships - it happens all the time. It would’ve been fine if the story had just ended that way, and everything would be a lot simpler if that was the way it was, but here’s the truth: it wasn’t that simple, not at all.

The important part is that they’d started talking only days after Mew’s previous relationship had ended. It’d been bad, but Mew’s breakups were always bad. Mew had always thought there was something of a curse on his romantic relationships - they always ended with his heart broken, with an almost-permanent pain that was always, always worse than whatever the other party felt. He carries that hurt, that desperation with him for days for weeks for months afterwards, his love rotting on the inside as he smiled on the outside.

So it is at that moment Mew and Gulf meet. Hurt by his latest breakup, by the celebrity who had destroyed any reputation Mew had built up for himself, Mew had thought: maybe it was time to stop looking for love in lovers, and to turn to family and friends instead. He’d discovered Gulf’s raps in that period of his life, raps that weren’t about money, cars, and flexing what you didn’t have, but about his life stories. His family, his friends.

It’d started with one song, but Mew had found himself slowly becoming hooked. One of them - a song about his mother’s care - had moved Mew to tears. He still remembers what the scene would have looked like to an outsider. Mew, leaning back in his rolling chair, his arms crossed over his chest in thought. The soft timbre of Gulf’s voice in the background, rapping. The stories of all the times his mother had picked him up when he’d fallen - one time off a chair, another time off a bicycle. How she’d always held his hand and guided him through the hard times. Mew had felt a tear trail down his cheek, and picked up his phone.

He’d reached out to Gulf first, wanting to learn more about this rapper who spat lyrics on the stage like all other rappers did, but who seemed to be hiding a softer personality under the leather jacket and the tattoos.

They’d started chatting, and Mew had quickly discovered Gulf’s introverted nature. He’d begun pulling down the walls eagerly, almost like the adrenaline from that previous relationship was fuelling him - his longing to reconnect romantically, his desire to feel wanted again.

A double-edged sword, that’d been. Because Gulf’s walls were built up so highly around everyone save for his family, completely pulling them down had felt like a damn near impossible mission to Mew at times. At first it was fun to be the one always initiating things. Thrilling even, the thrumming feeling that came with starting a new relationship, or at least building the foundations upon which it would rest.

Then one day he’d had enough, decided to play God and test Gulf. His logic had been: if Gulf wanted and was thinking of Mew the same way Mew was thinking of him, then surely Gulf would start initiating. The ball was in Gulf’s court now, Mew had decided, and unless he did something, Mew was going to stay firmly on his side.

Looking back, perhaps Mew had been irrational - he’d known Gulf well enough to know that he probably wouldn’t have reached out. After all, he’d been aware of Gulf’s introverted nature even from the beginning. But in that moment - not even in that moment, that period of time - Mew had been blinded by his own scars and Gulf’s lack of reciprocity. So he’d turned away from where he was pulling down Gulf’s walls brick by brick, left half of it standing and just walked away.

Now he knows he’d been irrational, and that maybe, just maybe, if he had reached out for a while longer, if he had pulled down those few remaining bricks, everything would have turned out different. But Mew’s not one for hypotheticals, not anymore.

Still, sometimes he’s curious to know Gulf’s end of the story. Had he felt the same hurt Mew had when he’d walked away? Had he felt it, the way Mew had slowly drifted out of his grasp? Had he wondered about the possibilities, dreamt them in his bed at night, the same way Mew wishes he could?

* * *

Gulf releases his track about Mew. and it’s not what Mew had been expecting at all.

Truth is, he doesn’t know what he’d been expecting. And though he’d expected Gulf’s lyrics to be genuine to some degree, as his lyrics always are, Mew hadn’t been prepared for them to sound quite this honest.

And Mew’s not going to lie - he’s inspired by it. At this point he’d gotten most of his own song done - he’s got the words, but the heart of a song is always in its melody, and it’s this part he’s struggling with. 

There’s a music video accompanying the song. In it, Gulf is running around in a sunny meadow, sunlight falling on his face in gentle waves, holding a bouquet of sunflowers, closing his eyes and falling into a semblance of outer space. The sunflowers fall with him, swirling about in the this faux galaxy.

Mew remembers Gulf asking him about his favourite flower, and this must have been why. He’d asked quite a while ago, though, so he must have been planning all this really early. Mew smiles to himself, just a small smile. He’s pretty impressed.

Back on the screen, the planets circle Gulf as he rushes forth, this time reaching forth instead of falling back, seeking out his mysterious lover with an outstretched hand. Accompanying lyrics in the background, an impassioned rap:  _ can’t you see I’m running, can’t you see who I’m running to. _

_ You’re my sun, you’re my moon. _ He’s got to applaud Gulf - in any other universe parallel to this one, he would have believed that this was a love song. Gulf’s voice is unusually strong, like he’s calling out to someone.

_ My heart, my world, it revolves around you.  _ Mew wonders how Gulf came up with such lyrics, where he drew his inspiration from. Whoever it is he’s talking about in these lyrics, whoever his world revolves around - that person must be very lucky.

Somehow when Mew closes his eyes and listens to Gulf’s rap - full of beats, of words - the melodies manifest on the backs of his eyelids. In coloured bursts of yellow, orange, pink, like lightning flashes in the back of his mind. He scribbles them all down, snatches them almost greedily from the seas of his mind and puts them to paper.

He’s writing non-stop for a good hour, until the melodies have become like etchings on the pages of his notebook, when the song itself has stitched itself together like an ephemeral tapestry in his mind.

Mew sits back, takes a deep breath. Cathartic, that’s the only way to describe this feeling. Mew wonders if this is what it’s like to have a muse, to have a person who makes you desire to create anything and everything from the bottom of your heart. He closes his eyes.  _ I don’t mind this feeling, not at all. _

* * *

They’re waiting for a meeting, sitting across each other at Mew’s dining table. Gulf is on his phone, a half-finished box of takeaway pad kaprao in front of him. Mew’s is a bowl of salmon poke, but he’s only taken a few bites, opting to scroll through his phone, reply to some messages and check on his schedule instead. P’Best had just texted that he’s on his way, and as far as Mew knows his team is already parking downstairs.

Mew looks up from his phone. Gulf is still eating, lifting the spoon to his mouth in a repetitive manner and nodding happily to himself in between bites.  _ Baby _ , Mew thinks. Sometimes he forgets that Gulf is a whole six years younger than him, but in moments like these he really wants to reach out and ruffle Gulf’s hair.

“Hey Gulf.” He says, and the younger man’s attention is immediately on him.

“Yes, phi?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to be a guest at my concert? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I - “ Mew is interjected by an unusually excited Gulf.

“Of course, phi!” Gulf agrees almost eagerly before he seems to remember himself, giving an awkward little cough. Swallows his current bite of pad kaprao. “I’ll go.”

Mew smiles gently.

“That’s good. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Of course, phi. I’ll ask p’Best to put it in the calendar!” Gulf’s texting rapidly on his phone in the next second, and Mew doesn’t have the heart to tell Gulf that p’Best has already put Mew’s concert in his schedule. Then the younger man’s back to eating his pad kaprao with a grin on his face. Mew chuckles lightly to himself, under his breath. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that this rap-spitting, leather-jacket-wearing young man can be so adorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- ep 2 in two daysssssss  
> \- also um opinions on mewgulf as achilles x patroclus? i'm SO close to writing another au but just wanted to know if anyone else was vibing w this idea haha  
> \- anywaysssss [twitter](https://twitter.com/myu_gao)


	9. Chapter 9

“Wow.” Gulf gasps, looking around the concert hall in awe. Mew can’t help the proud smile that spreads across his face. He’d spent a lot of time on this concert after all - carefully selecting the venue, preparing the various performances, and even participating in designing the tickets. Looking at everything his staff, his friends, and his special guests have prepared for the concert makes him emotional, though today’s only a rehearsal. He just knows it’s going to be perfect.

“This looks amazing, Mew!” Zom bounds up just then. All cheerful and innocent, until she turns to Gulf. Then there’s a twinkle in her eye, and Mew regards it warily. “And you must be Gulf! Nice to meet you!”

She shakes Gulf’s hand with an enthusiasm that fully belies either one of two things. One, she’s going to befriend Gulf just so she can ask him about his relationship with Mew. Or two, she’s going to drag them both to a quiet corner and interrogate Gulf. Either way, she’s going to be the death of Mew.

“Oh, by the way! I’m filming something for Youtube,” Zom gestures towards her manager, who’s standing a distance away with a camera. He gives a lazy thumbs-up at his cue. “Could we film you guys?”

Mew double-checks the situation. There’s no one else in the hall really, just the band and their managers and Gulf. They all work for the company, so there’s no liabilities. Plus Zom’s chanel has a pretty decent following - a lot of them are Mew’s fans, and most of Mew’s fans have taken kindly to this thing with Gulf. And besides, their relationship has apparently been one of the best examples of a healthy LGBT relationship that’s currently out there. To introduce that concept to a few more people by whatever means he can - Mew’s not opposed to it.

It should be fine, right? Mew checks himself. Gulf is standing there obediently whilst Mew’s arm is situated casually around his waist - it’s been moving there a lot of its own accord lately - and Mew’s about to remove it when he remembers that having it there would probably be a plus.

“Hm.” Mew considers, shifting a little and accidentally bumping Gulf’s chest as he does so. Gulf jolts as if shocked by lightning, and looks at Mew with an expression that is almost scandalous.

“Sorry” Mew teases, poking Gulf’s chest against lightheartedly. Gulf grasps Mew’s wrist where it is, pressing it to his chest.

“It’s fine.” He says. Mew flattens his palm and presses in a little to feel the slight curve of Gulf’s stomach. Well, if Gulf says it’s fine then it’s fine.

“Yeah, I guess you can film.” Mew tells Zom, who’s watching the whole ordeal with keen eyes. Her manager gives them another thumbs-up, Mew presses his palm a little stronger against Gulf’s chest, and Zom starts asking Mew about his upcoming album.

* * *

If Mew ever had a doubt about how him and Gulf have presented their relationship to the public, this - well - this resolves it all.

“ _ New Friends _ wants you on as their couple of the season.” Nong Stu tells him, and Mew’s jaw drops.  _ New Friends _ is one of the biggest things in the entertainment industry right now, a wholesome yet endearing spin on the regular variety show. It puts a couple of celebrities together in one house, and just lets them live their lives whilst making new friends. Unlike most other variety shows, Mew has not heard of any dramatic editing nor producer manipulation in it, which is quite a feat. So for him and Gulf to be invited on the show - that’s pretty big.

“They said you two have been looking really ‘domestic’ lately.” That must be why. Every season,  _ New Friends _ invites a couple onto the show for the domestic moments - the  _ fin _ moments are always a big seller, after all. Something about watching couples be affectionate on television is apparently really entertaining. Which is pretty funny considering how many relationships said industry ruins on the regular.

But Mew doesn’t miss the implications of that. If he and Gulf went on the show, they’d be the first openly LGBT celebrity couple to guest on it. If they went on, and played their cards right - it could bring so much positive representation for their community.  _ Mew’s _ community, at least. He doesn’t know about Gulf and he’s not going to assume.

That is,  _ if _ they went on the show as a couple. They’re in a fake relationship, for godssake. Something about basically living together, parading about like they’re a couple for national television - that doesn’t sit right with Mew. It feels deceptive, and if there’s one thing he knows about Gulf is that he hates deceiving others.

“Will you be okay?” Gulf asks him. It takes a few seconds for Mew to really process - Gulf is directing the question towards him?  _ Why? _ Some part of him wants to ask.  _ What about you? This involves you too, you know. _

“I’ll be fine?” Mew answers, confused. Is there something he’s missing about this? The way Gulf is looking at him, eyes dark with concern.  _ I’m okay, I think I’m okay. What’s wrong? _

Sometimes Mew thinks he understands Gulf more than Gulf understands him. He understands how and why the younger man operates the way he does, at least for the most part. But sometimes - at times like these, especially - he’s not sure about that at all.

“Anyways, we have time before we need to get back to them. So you guys can sleep on it and we’ll reconvene some other day.” Nong Stu announces, seemingly sensing Mew’s hesitation. Yeah. Maybe Mew’s taken to mirroring Gulf now, because sleep - sleep sounds really good right about now.

* * *

The creative process works differently for everyone, Mew knows that. Still, it’s fascinating to observe the differences in the way he and Gulf work.

They’re supposed to be writing lyrics for a collaboration, a piece for Mew’s concert. That’s what Gulf is doing, anyway. Mew is feeling listless today and is finding observing Gulf’s process far more interesting than penning his own lyrics.

The way Gulf writes his rap is practiced. No, that’s not the right word. Perhaps the right way to describe is  _ instinctive _ . Very Gulf. Mew observes Gulf, and concludes that this is a three-step process.

Firstly, Gulf dazes off a bit, staring into the distance with his chin in his palm. The look on his face is empty, his pen laying still on the table.

Secondly, the words coming together in his mind. The telltale sign of this is the way Gulf pouts in thought, tapping his pen against the table as he strings together idioms and phrases in his mind. Mew thinks he could balance his pen on the roundness of Gulf’s pout.

Last but not least, he finally puts his pen to paper. He writes slowly, with pauses in between every word as if he’s trying to commit every single feeling to paper. His pen digs into the paper with the weight of his words, and some of the ink even leaves its mark on his fingers.

“You write pretty slowly.” Mew voices out, and winces when he considers the implications of his words. For how romantic and poetic his lyrics are, sometimes Mew forgets their weight, and forgets to be careful choosing which of them escape his lips. Though to be honest, most of this is because of Gulf - because in front of Gulf he’s always reduced to being himself, and he loses part of that filter he’s curated so carefully over the past years.

Thankfully, Gulf doesn’t seem to take offence - or maybe he recognizes the genuine curiosity underlying Mew’s words and takes it for what it is. He nods in agreement, doodling a little lopsided cat onto the edge of his paper.

“But sometimes I think...I think I don’t express what I feel well enough.” Gulf looks at Mew meaningfully. “I think I’ve hurt people that way. Or driven them away. I don’t want to do that again.”

Mew bites back his question, though now he’s burning with curiosity.  _ Who? Who did you hurt? Was it her? _ Gulf doesn’t owe Mew anything of his past. Not of her, not of what they used to be, none of it. But sometimes. Sometimes Mew just really wants to know.

* * *

They’re on their - Mew can’t remember, but perhaps it’s the fourth - round. Sweat lines their foreheads, the sheets of Mew’s bed are completely rumpled, and Gulf has gone completely lax, relying solely on Mew’s strength.

It’s a lot, but Mew hadn’t been able to resist. Hadn’t been able to resist the way Gulf looked after a night performing at the club. The leather jacket clinging onto the edges of his shoulders, his tank top and biceps visible. The tattoos too - the phases of the moon on his collarbone, the slight hint of the names that are inked across his heart. A little bump on the left of his chest - his piercing. When Mew licks the sensitive nipple over sheer white cotton, he can feel the bumps of the gemstone under his tongue.

So yes - Mew hadn’t been able to hold himself back at all. He pulls out from Gulf for a second just to thumb at his hole, watching the way it opens up obediently under his fingers. It’s like it recognizes Mew’s touch, if not from the multiple plowings it’s taken tonight, then from the abuse it’s suffered from Mew many a past night.

Mew can’t help the groan that escapes his lips, a guttural one - one that sounds like a warning, one that stakes a claim. Still, when he returns into Gulf’s body he is gentler, conscious of the way the younger man lies limp, obedient but tired from all he’d taken tonight. Slows down the pace to something gentler, almost worshipful. Roams his hands over Gulf’s warm chest, over the slight swell of his stomach, over his pecs, then a little tug at his nipple. Gulf audibly moans, a little drop of saliva slipping out the edge of his mouth, but it is a diluted reaction. Mew presses his cheek against his, a quiet promise.  _ Just one more, baby, just give me one more. _

Mew drapes his body over Gulf’s, rocking into the younger man gently, swiveling his hips and hitting the spot he knows drives Gulf wild. There’s a certain rhythm to all this that makes it musical. Mew closes his eyes, presses his face to the juncture of Gulf’s neck, absentmindedly humming a few broken notes.

It becomes a tune before he realizes it, a melody that matches the pace of their bodies connecting. Constant, and soothing. It’s the melody for the song he’d created for Gulf, Mew realizes, the one he hasn’t been able to get out of his head recently.

He’s humming into Gulf’s shoulder as he pushes into him, interspersing every few notes with a kiss to the warm skin. All of this feels right, somehow. Like a moment, precious and intimate, to be kept in the recesses of one's heart.

Below him, Gulf is half-asleep, though Mew can feel the dregs of strength in his fingers, intertwined with Mew’s own. He rouses a little at the sound of the melody, sighing as he takes it in.

“It sounds good, phi.” Gulf murmurs, his voice drowsy with sleep. Mew hums in assent, leaning his head into Gulf’s. The lingering smell of his shampoo is citrusy and clean, his hair soft though slightly damp with sweat.

“This is what it would be like on that show, right phi?  _ New Friends _ . We’d basically be living together.” An absent-minded comment from Gulf, who sounds closer and closer to the edge of sleep. Mew curls a hand around his cock and tugs gently, trying to get him to reach a final climax before surrendering to slumber. _ If this is what being on that show would be like, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad _ , Mew thinks. Maybe he should consider it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- mew are you sure gulf writing lyrics is interesting? maybe you’re just smitten and phDumb  
> \- anyways sorry updates have been slower recently ><  
> \- will proofread after i’m done with an essay! and i’ll be posting this update on twitter too  
> \- find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/myu_gao)


	10. Chapter 10

Mew places a hand on the top of his head and flinches. Bangkok weather is famous for being absurdly hot but this - this is too much. He presses his palm flat against the top of his head again, and snatches it away seconds later. _Nope, still some outrageous temperature._ Mew soothes himself with the thought of what’s to come - he has to, anyway, as sounds of children whooping flare up again in the near distance.

“I’m so ready for this,” he tells one of the other MCs, who nods in agreement, “I haven't swam in a long time."

Today him and Gulf have been invited to _Welcome to Thailand!,_ a travel show that's been taking off in recent months. For today's episode there's at Siam Amazing Waterpark, and though watching the way the cool water flows is somewhat of a reprieve in this hot weather, it's not enough. Mew's itching to have a swim and forget his worries whilst splashing about. They're still going through introductions though, so he settles for placing a hand on the small of Gulf's back and nodding lazily as the MCs talk.

“So for our international viewers, Mew here will be introducing this very waterpark...in English!” A clear cue. Mew does as he’s instructed, spouting out the most coherent nonsense his heat-addled brain can come up with. Something about “fantastic waterpark” and “right here in Bangkok” - Mew isn’t sure which permutation of words exit his mouth. Probably the heat getting to him. At least it’s impressive enough, if the enthusiastic claps from the show’s MCs are any indicator.

“Your faen is pretty amazing, huh?” one of the MCs says to Gulf.

Gulf’s smile is in the shape of a heart.

“He really is.”

The water park makes for a really good time, a vacation under the guise of work. Mew slathers an abundance of sunscreen on himself then insists on Gulf using some too - he doesn't need any, really, not with the long-sleeved rash guard he's wearing. Still, Mew insists, putting sunscreen over his delicate wrists then the little bit of skin right under his jaw.

Then they bound off towards the slides, more than ready to enjoy this small bit of a break they've been given. Mew lets himself go, screams as he hurtles down the highest slide in the park. Gulf shows him a video he'd taken of Mew, looking far too pleased with himself. He promises Mew not to post it, though he doesn't delete it either. When they play a game of water volleyball against the MCs, him and Gulf win easily. They share gleeful high-fives, delighted at having escaped participating in the Pocky game. Apparently it’s too much of an early celebration, because the producers make them do it anyway. It's a little funny cutting off the Pocky before his and Gulf's lips can touch, even funnier when Mew thinks about the many more scandalous things they've done behind closed doors.

The day’s over too fast, and the producers let Gulf and Mew head off to the changing rooms first whilst the MCs wrap up the rest of their filming. It's no big deal, at least not until Mew sheds his own rash guard then turns to find Gulf very blatantly staring at him. More specifically, at his abs then his biceps then awkwardly away, as if he doesn't quite know where to look.

"Gulf?" The teasing in Mew's voice can't be mistaken for anything else, and Gulf colours a little under his intense gaze, quickly averting his eyes.

“Phi’s really fit.” He admits easily, and Mew almost chokes. He’s definitely gotten his fair share of compliments about his physique, but somehow it’s different when Gulf says it. It’s not something he’s ever explicitly mentioned, but - well, the younger man's strength kink says it all.

"You're fit too." Mew replies, but Gulf pouts, poking at his little stomach.

"Not really, phi. I wish I had abs like phi but I'm too lazy to workout."

"It's fine," Mew curls his arms around Gulf's waist so that he can poke Gulf's stomach too, "I prefer your stomach, anyways." He's not lying - he's always liked that Gulf is both fit yet soft, with his strong calf muscles and tiny tummy. It's very squishy and very nice for Mew to wrap his arms around, and he demonstrates as much, curling his arms around Gulf.

They’re both half-naked, and there’s a lot of skin touching skin. But there could be more. When Mew turns Gulf around in his arms, he's looking down, his lashes fluttering gently. His ears turn a dark shade of red before he musters up the courage to look directly into Mew's eyes. Then they're leaning towards each other, shoulder blades bumping and the tip of Mew's nose barely grazing Gulf's, when the sound of footsteps and a distant conversation break them apart.

"Shit." Mew mumbles. Gulf is no better, frozen with his hands still clutching at Mew's biceps. It's Mew who takes action in the end, scooping Gulf up by the thighs and ducking into a shower stall before anyone else can discover them. They're both breathing deeply, still a little shocked from almost being walked in on. In the background, Mew hears the MCs from earlier talking loudly about the next episode, what they should go eat, and other things his panicked brain is too dazed to fully comprehend. It takes another few seconds before Mew fully realizes the situation they're in.

If anyone were to open the shower stall and walk in on the two of them now, they could try an infinite amount of excuses and nothing would save them. Because their current position is too incriminating to ever justify. They're both shirtless, clad only in swim shorts. Swim shorts that do absolutely nothing to hide the fact that Gulf is fully hard under the thin fabric, and Mew - Mew can't deny the way he's chubbing up. Gulf's still squeezing his biceps, fingers digging a little into Mew's flesh.

"Gulf" Mew whispers, tugging lightly at the waistband of Gulf's swim shorts, letting his index finger trace the line of Gulf's hipbone. It's a question, and Gulf's small nod and returning whisper of "p'Mew" are enough for Mew to drag the elastic of the shorts down Gulf's hips.

Mew wraps fingers around Gulf's cock before it can hit his stomach, watching as precum forms a tiny bead at his slit. Gulf's sigh is a little too deep, like he's been waiting for a while, and he almost collapses into Mew's chest. Mew wonders if Gulf can hear his heartbeat where he's resting against his pecs, wonders if Gulf's heartbeat is racing just as quickly at the thought of being discovered.

Fortunately, the MCs are loud as they chatter, for it hides the wet squelch Gulf’s cock makes as it drags against Mew’s abs and the staggered sigh Gulf lets out afterwards.

"P'Mew, lemme." Gulf mumbles into Mew's ear, pulling the older man's shorts down too. Mew’s own cock drags against the poong-ka-tee he’d been cuddling up against earlier. It feels scandalous, like he’s defiling some part of Gulf, but who is he kidding? If Gulf were innocent - if he ever was in the first place - then anything he’s done with Mew has already destroyed any semblance of it.

On his part, Gulf's much less hesitant than before, touching Mew with gentle fingers. However, there is a sizeable silence before he finally leans closer to Mew, making sure any noise he makes is fully masked by the chatting before he whispers: "P'Mew?"

Mew _hm_ s an affirmative, as quiet as he possibly can.

"Can I? With my mouth?" _Holy shit._ Mew's breath stops for a second before he remembers to nod, rendered speechless as Gulf sinks to his knees.

Fortunately the MCs are quite loud in their chattering so it blocks out a lot of the noise. But it doesn't help that Gulf is so eager, his knuckles tight where his palm is clenched over his own cock, preventing himself from coming. It takes a lot for Mew not to groan aloud at the image of Gulf on his knees, plump lips around Mew's cock and a disciplinary hand over his own. The need to be quiet hasn't deterred Gulf at all, except instead of licking and slobbering all over Mew's cock like he's used to, Gulf's taking him in quietly. He's taking all of Mew into his throat, and if Mew leans ever so slightly to the side, he can see the way Gulf's throat constricts as he takes the entirety of Mew's cock.

Gulf's hair is rough between Mew's fingers as he pushes the younger man down on his cock, a hand over his own mouth to stop his moans. It's a lot to bear, especially with the way Gulf is sucking on him, choking on him almost, And it doesn't take much more from Gulf, just a little tightening of his throat before Mew is coming into Gulf’s mouth. Gulf, to his credit, swallows the lot of it, though a small trail escapes his plush mouth.

Eager to return the favour, Mew takes Gulf’s length into his hand, twisting his wrist and lightly pinching his slit in the way he knows Gulf likes. And he plays Gulf’s body like a fiddle, watches the way Gulf’s back goes ramrod straight under his touch, nipples pebbling in arousal. He’s given Gulf so little, yet he’s so impossibly close, Mew attaches his lips to Gulf's clavicle, sucking on the soft skin in lieu of an encouragement: _come on, baby. Come for me._ At that moment, a soft whimper somehow manages to escape Gulf and the following silence in the changing room feels far too consequential. _Fuck_.

Luckily, the reason for this silence is answered a few seconds later when the changing room door bangs to a close, but it's better to be safe than to be sorry, and Mew makes sure to cover Gulf's mouth as the latter comes. Bad idea for Mew, because instead of staring at Gulf's lips now he has to stare into Gulf's eyes, look at the way Gulf's eyes roll back into his head as he reaches his climax, body tensing in Mew's hold.

"Shit." Mew gasps aloud, and he and Gulf meet eyes in the leftover silence. He stares slowly down at the mess on their stomachs, then back up to Gulf. There's a tiny upward curve at the edge of the younger's mouth, and before he knows it they're both laughing crazily with the absurdity of the entire situation.

"Shit sounds about right." Gulf agrees, and they share ashamed but satisfied smiles.

* * *

Mew's decided what he's going to do for their "anniversary", somewhat. It involves a few more hours in the studio, and more than a couple of sunflowers. It'd been the most logical thing Mew could think of: since there were sunflowers in Gulf’s music video and it’s a symbol their fans will associate with them - why not?

Mew's not opposed, anyway. He likes sunflowers, and if he has to spend more than a little effort finding the best sunflowers possible for Gulf? It's a win-win situation for him.

With that in mind, Mew turns back to his computer and pulls up a new tab.

* * *

Mew presses a palm against the small of Gulf’s back. It's a few minutes before their collaboration at Mew's concert. And whilst Mew's body is still thrumming with energy from that dance song he'd performed with Nice, he's still concerned for Gulf, who's biting his lip a little as he glances beyond the stage curtains.

“Nervous?” He asks, then curses himself for even asking that question at all. Gulf does this for a living, for godssake. It’s just that Gulf’s onstage persona is so wildly different from how he is offstage that Mew sometimes finds it difficult to reconcile the two.

He remembers, back when exchanging even a greeting backstage was something unthinkable. Remembers watching Gulf dominate the stage during an awards ceremony, a mixture of hatred and something else boiling in his stomach. (Though now Mew wonders: was that hatred and that something else really just a strong, strong emotion he just hadn’t fully realized?)

Either way, it’s a far cry from the Gulf he usually sees now, the one that curls up at his side with damp skin and a satisfied sigh after a long night, the one that takes any and every opportunity to tease his managers (especially p’Best, the poor man). The one who still fidgets with his fingers before going on stage, like he's doing now.

"A little nervous, phi." Gulf admits. Before this, Gulf would've never admitted this to Mew. He probably wouldn't have said anything at all. But now he lets Mew take his hand in his and run a warm palm over cold skin.

"I'll be with you." Mew offers, though he doesn't really know if that's any reassurance.

It's just a performance - though Mew puts his heart into every one of his performances, there is something different about this one. Maybe it's because it's the first time he's performing with Gulf, because Mew's heart hasn't beat this fast during a performance since he was a rookie. When Gulf moves to the front of the stage for his part of the song, Mew sees his silhouette against the fansigns, the lightsticks, everything. Later he'll find out fans made an edit of this moment, but in that moment he lets himself just stand and stare, awestruck.

Mew lets his gaze trail over his strong brows, the flutter of his lashes, the curve of his nose, the way his lips from around the words. Mew knows this, and the world knows this, but Gulf is beautiful. Mew repeats it to himself once more, though he doesn't need convincing: _Gulf's beautiful._

It's like he's possessed by some invisible force, the way he moves. Maybe it's because he's onstage, in front of the fans. Maybe it's because of the unsaid expectations. Either way, when Mew reaches up to cup a gentle hand to Gulf's jaw, then round to the back of his head, it feels right.

The music finally dies out, the last of the tune floating in the air like the wisp of a dream gone by, but for now Mew is still in the moment. Him and Gulf alone, with nothing but the remnants of a melody in the space between them. Mew tousles the hair on the back of Gulf’s head gently, feeling impossibly fond. Pushes it towards himself, touches their foreheads together. It's just a small touch, yet it is so much more. Gulf must feel it too, if the way he subtly curls into Mew is any indication.

It all surrounds Mew like a warm embrace, a confusing mix of bright lights and loud screams, but in the middle of this beautiful cacophony there is Gulf. Gulf with his forehead against Mew’s, their chests rising and falling in tandem. His fingers trembling a little around his microphone, the flutter of his eyelashes and the slight parting of his lips. When he finally looks up at Mew, it’s like the world shifts, like every little molecule of their small, shared universe has finally fallen into its rightful place.

* * *

The concert was a success, and Mew's riding off that high. There's nothing he loves more than this - knowing that he'd given his best in his performances, that he'd made the fans happy. He'd thanked all the guests and staff, endured some teasing from Zommarie and Mild (whilst Nice watched on with a knowing smile, which was somehow worse), then hugged Gulf goodbye. If the hug had been a little tighter, a little longer than it normally would have been - well, that's a secret between Mew and Gulf.

Mew's feeling good, really good, which is perhaps why in that moment, he thinks to himself: _why not?_ He thinks of the look in Gulf's eyes, the way he'd looked at Mew on that stage.

“Nong Stu?” His manager looks up at the call of their name. “Put me down for that other show.”

“ _New Friends_? Of course.” It feels like a bigger decision that it really is. Mew can only hope he’s making the right choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- just finished my finals yesterday and i'm backkkk  
> \- get ready for some fun updates hehe  
> \- thank you for all the kudos and comments on this fic! you guys are so sweet <3  
> \- anyways i am currently a broke college student with a not very well-paying part time job so i was wondering...would anyone be interested in commissions if i open them? pls lmk!!  
> \- + check out my [twitter](https://twitter.com/myu_gao) for more writing updates and yelling about mewgulf!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- i’ve recently opened a [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/myu_gao) acc! i’m also opening commissions on there so you can request  
> \- regardless of whether you check that out, i'm super super grateful for all the kudos and supportive comments on this fic and the rest of my writing 💛  
> \- N E WAYS I'M RLY EXCITED FOR THIS CHAPTER SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY <3333

Mew has always loved anniversaries. Had always loved anniversaries.

It's been a while since Mew had celebrated one, though. Before that one relationship, and even during then, there'd been many. After that, though, the public wouldn't have trusted anyone - man _or_ woman - that stepped near him. If Mew was seen with someone, if his hand so much as hovered over someone's waist, it was damning. It'd mean they were in a relationship, that Mew was going to take advantage of them like he had to _him_.

It didn't matter that Mew hadn't so much as thought about anyone that way after the PR disaster and mental catastrophe the previous relationship had been. It didn't matter that he'd been shockingly and abruptly thrown into that dark place, so deep he felt like he could no longer reach a hand out to anyone at all.

That was then, but the effects had been a little too close to permanent, so much so that the romantic ideals that Mew had held so closely and dearly had been crushed completely. Still, he remembers what it had felt like to love so strongly, and he'd mustered the last of what he'd been able to feel for this.

It's not anything extremely extravagant, because that just isn't Mew's style. Instead, it's something more simple, more meaningful, but Mew thinks Gulf will get the point, and their fans will definitely get the point.

It doesn't stop Mew from being nervous, though. His hands are so sweaty the tissue paper's almost sticking to it, and he trails tender fingers against the sunflowers. It'd been quite the task to even get these - gorgeous, upright, flourishing beauties like the ones in Mew's bouquet aren't the easiest to get during this season, but he'd managed it, somehow.

There's a song too, and Mew refuses to admit to anyone that he'd spent longer than a few hours on it. Well, anyone other than Nice, who he'd roped into helping him. Nice had given him more than a few knowing stares from outside the recording booth, but it'd been worth it for how well it had turned out.

This one isn't the one he's releasing to the public, because he'd feel bad if it was. It's stupid, because sincerity shouldn't matter in a fake relationship like this, because no one cares when the snow inside a snow globe is nothing but pieces of paltry porcelain.

 _It's for my own conscience_ , Mew tells himself, and it is the truth. It is, and so he convinces himself it is the truth, and the whole truth. Anyways, it's a good song, and it'd been cathartic getting it out of his system, and Mew's not one to complain about either of those things.

Beyond the sunflowers and the song comes the most complex part - that is, getting people to help him execute his plan. The people around him - few as they are - seem to be happy to help out. If anything they're a little too gleeful at the idea of it, particularly Zom, who muffles a squeal, shaking Mew's arm excitedly. She agrees to help, and even volunteers to film the event. _For the memories_ , _p'Mew!_ Well, it won't do any harm, Mew supposes.

Naturally, p'Best also agrees to help. His reaction is substantially tamer than Jom's, though that might just be his disposition. The important part is that he agrees, and since he's Gulf's manager, their chances of the anniversary surprise being successful have just increased tenfold.

They come up with admittedly not the most foolproof plan - Mew had initially come up with some complicated plan involving Zom and him running to and from cars, and p'Best constantly checking his phone like a nervous spy. He'd even drawn a diagram detailing his thoughts - but of course he's been overthinking.

P'Best suggests something much more simple, which goes as follows: p'Best will tell Gulf he has an event. Even though the other event Gulf has, ends at six pm, Gulf won't question having another event (at least that's what p'Best says). Because Zom will also be involved in this fake event, he'll just tell Gulf that Zom will guide him once their car arrives at the venue. Then she’ll lead him into the company building, to Mew’s studio.

Despite Mew's initial doubts, this plan works like an absolute charm. Mew has barely more than a few minutes to fidget with the bouquet and idly tap his fingers against the arm of his chair before a door is creaking open and Gulf is peeking in.

"P'Zom?" He whispers softly, though his eyes are fixated on Mew and Mew only.

A sequence of emotions flits across Gulf's face in an adorably obvious manner. Initially, his eyes are heavy with sleep, his lids drooping, his hands tentatively clutching the sides of his sweatpants. Then a small smile - a drowsy one, but a smile nonetheless. He looks around, really takes it in - the sunflowers, the decorations, the guitar with the tuner still attached to it. Mew angles the sunflowers towards Gulf, and his eyes sparkle.

The younger man shuffles into the room, instinctively reaches out towards the sunflowers.

"Is this for me?" He asks, but Mew knows he's teasing.

"Do you see anyone else in this room?" Mew hands him the bouquet, and Gulf takes it with eager hands. The tissue paper rustles as he presses the bouquet to his chest, tucking his chin in and taking a large whiff of the sunflowers.

"What is this for, phi?"

"Our anniversary, of course," A little dimple appears in Gulf's cheek, "to be accurate, it's been six months."

Gulf suddenly frowns.

"Six months since what, phi?"

"Since all this." Mew waves his hands at the surroundings. The sunflowers, the songs they've been writing, the meetings - behind closed doors and in front of them. All of it. "Six months since the beginning of our fake relationship."

Mew has never seen Gulf mad. In fact, he's not entirely sure if it's possible for Gulf to be mad, for the younger man usually shows emotions in the general range of either happy or sleepy or nonchalant. He's never seen this expression on Gulf's face - like a dark shadow has been cast over his defined features, the sparkle in his eye dulled from tiger's eye to a simple stone. His voice is bitter, even a little bit hoarse, when he speaks up again.

"Six months we’ve been in this fake relationship and you still don’t seem to understand me at all," _What? What don't I understand? I may not understand everything about you, but haven't I learned?_ There's words on the tip of Mew's tongue - _Gulf, I, I -_ but even in Mew's thoughts he can't string the words together, his brain abuzz with thoughts, dread, and a sinking feeling that drags his heart down with it.

"I can't do this anymore, phi." _What can't you do anymore? What's wrong?_ There is a silence between the two of them, and it feels stifling. Mew doesn't know what to say, which is strange because if there's anything Mew knows what to do, it's talking. The words are there, swimming and swarming at the back of his mind, but none of them are the right words, and instead of speaking aloud his mind, Mew drowns in it, drowns in it where he stands, staring at and through Gulf's eyes. It doesn't matter, because Gulf isn't looking back at him.

Then for the first time in a long time, Gulf turns his back on Mew, and without a word, walks out.

* * *

Mew doesn't follow Gulf. He could've. He knows he could've. But he doesn't. It's like his feet are fixed to the floor, and at the back of his mind all he can think is: _Gulf didn't get to hear the song._

Mew wants to follow Gulf. He does think about it, for longer than a minute. Thinks about it. Why did Gulf leave? Was it something Mew had said? But he'd been nice and sentimental and told the truth, so how could it be?

The longer Mew thinks about it the more he feels justified in staying exactly where he is. Why should he be the one seeking Gulf, when all he'd been trying to do was to create a happy moment, to celebrate something that didn't even really need to be celebrated? Something that didn't even deserve to be celebrated?

Mew frowns to himself. _No, not deserve, that's too much._ But the truth of the matter is, it didn't need to happen, though Mew made it happen. _Yeah_ , a voice at the back of his mind nags, _if you didn't believe it needed to be celebrated, then why did you do it anyways?_

Subconsciously, he picks up his phone, debates calling someone up to vent to them. Maybe Nice, maybe Zom, maybe his mother. But it feels like something too private, too personal to divulge even to them. Because in some warped, twisted way, it almost feels like - it almost feels like a rejection, though the logical side of his brain says that can't be the case.

Either way, he wouldn't get hurt over Gulf rejecting him, is what Mew tells himself. After all, he doesn't care enough about getting accepted to care about rejections. Still, it does sting, just a little bit. He remembers the slope of Gulf's shoulders as he'd turned away from Mew, the brief look of disappointment that had flashed across the younger man's features.

Okay, maybe a rejection from Gulf would have hurt a little more than Mew would like to admit. Just a little.

* * *

The last time Gulf had walked out on him - not literally, just virtually - it had gone like this:

It was at the near-beginning of Gulf’s career, and a good few years into Mew's. Mew’s had been peaking - the opportunities were finally coming back his way, and it seemed like he would finally break into the mainstream. He was satisfied, to say the least. After all, there was nothing more satisfying in life than proving all those who had doubted him wrong, all those who had said he'd never make it. Those who'd supported those blind rumours, those who'd condemned him for a crime he'd never committed.

Because he was making it, and he'd make it. It'd been a long climb, but Mew was nearing the end of it and he could almost see the top of the mountain.

The only difference was that there was no one for Mew and to kiss and to hold, even as he neared that peak. Mew had sworn off relationships and he was happy without them, but it was just strange. For someone who'd spent most of his years either in love, happily committed to someone, or both of the above, it was very different to fall asleep then wake up in a bed that was still sorrowfully empty, to not have someone to kiss for good luck before bounding onto stage.

Mew kept telling himself that he knew better now, and it was for the better. Which was true. It didn't stop him from chatting with Gulf whenever he'd had some free time, though. Mew didn't think he was looking for anything with the shy, lanky rapper, but he was cute. As cute as a tattooed young man spitting bars on the regular could be, at least. The reticent young man was surprisingly fun to talk to.

But they'd drifted apart, and looking back, it'd been a fault on both of their parts. On Mew's part, he'd realized soon after they'd drifted apart that maybe - just maybe - he had wanted something with Gulf, but it'd been a little too long since they'd talked to each other, and Mew hadn't found the time to break that silence. So he'd let himself have one last look at the messages they'd shared before archiving the conversation, thinking that'd be the last of it.

(Though he hadn't deleted those messages completely. Maybe Mew had had some hope for the two of them, even back then.)

* * *

Too bad Mew doesn't get to find out what would've happened after Gulf had left him this time. He does think about texting Gulf later that night, in between packing the last of his toiletries and calling his mother one last time. He really should - Mew's always had the mindset that any issues in any kind of relationship should be fixed as soon as possible, and there's no reason why this same rule shouldn't apply even in this fake relationship.

He gives in eventually, texting Gulf a simple _U ok?_ in between the hours of eleven and midnight. He knows for a fact that Gulf is awake - Mew can't help constantly checking the status of his message every minute or so, and not five minutes later, it's already marked seen.

 _He's probably asleep,_ Mew reasons with himself. He vaguely remembers Gulf telling him that his solution to dealing with any problem was just to get a good night's sleep. _Yeah, that's probably it_ , Mew reassures himself. _Nothing else._

Despite this sage piece of advice from past Gulf, Mew wakes up the next morning feeling shitty. And the worst part is that nothing fixes it, though Mew tries everything. Rolls just so he can get up from the correct side of the bed, as per his superstitions. Wearing a shirt in the day's lucky colour - he debates a little between the lucky colour for work and the lucky colour for romance, and ends up picking the first. He stuffs the other in his duffel bag, though - Mew's a professional through and through, but he won't deny that having the other shirt with him, no matter how fruitless it might actually be, does lift some weight off his chest.

It doesn't change that much though, because Mew knows why the circles under his eyes are so dark today, and it's got nothing to do with superstitions, beliefs - none of that. He'd just slept badly, plain and simple. Mew places a hand on the other side of the bed, the side Gulf (and by default Mew) usually occupies whenever he's sleeping over. It's cold, and Mew feels a shiver run down his spine.

That same shiver runs down his spine when he finally slips into the car to see Gulf, pointedly looking out the window. His hair is soft and wavy in the way it is when it's unstyled, and he's donning a simple black shirt and sweatpants. He doesn't acknowledge Mew's presence at all, and that's what hurts the most. It's ironic too, when Mew thinks about it - that in this moment where they would have avoided each other and run away, they're being forced together instead.

Mew looks out the other side to see p'Best and nong Stu still deep in conversation. Gulf's manager looks no better than he does, to be honest. Still, he'd given Mew a smile and a brief nod when he'd come out of his building. His demeanour is apologetic too - he probably knew Gulf wouldn't want to talk to Mew, and thinking about that again makes the silence feel all the more unbearable.

 _Gods, what a stupid idea._ Mew leans back in his seat, pressing fingers into his eyelids. Why did he ever think that them sharing a car was a good idea? Sure, it'd seemed reasonable at the time - their earlier schedules had ended at around the same times, and they'd both had to go to the _New Friends_ location anyways. Gulf had seemed excited about it too, had said it was like they were going on a trip together.

But look at them now, sitting beside each other but staring out the opposite windows. They haven't talked to each other, nor argued, yet the silence between them is telling. Mew's talkative most of the time, and though Gulf's usually silent when he's by himself, but ever since him and Mew got familiar he's started becoming more talkative. This silence is abnormal in all senses of the word, and Mew doesn't like it, not one bit.

 _Fuck_. Mew looks out into the passing landscape, willing something to change. Because in this chilling silence, he feels like they're driving towards their inevitable, impending doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe check out my [twitter](https://twitter.com/myu_gao) for updates and more mewgulf shenanigans!


	12. interlude: gulf

Words. Gulf's never really understood them, if he were to be fully honest. Never understood how people could gather so much information - an emotion, an attitude - from the simplest of words. Never understood how people could put so much value on them.

But when Mew had suddenly disappeared from his life, those few years ago, Gulf had spent much of his time sitting there mutely, staring at the phone in his hands, at the static words on the screen. Willing them to change, but never finding the motivation to be the one to reach out first. Because - what would he say? _Why'd you stop texting? Am I not worth your words anymore? I miss you._

( _Huh? I miss you?_ Gulf had said that to his mom, his dad, his sister, other members of his family. He'd never really said it to anyone outside that. But he supposed he did miss Mew.)

Gulf had never really understood words, but in that moment, there was nothing he wanted to see more than a few words from Mew.

The next week, he'd seen the man himself at an awards show. Here’s the thing - Gulf had never met Mew in real life prior to that event. And Gulf had known Mew was good looking - he'd seen the older man in magazines, on billboards. Mew in real life, though, was something else entirely. For a good few moments Gulf had simply stared gobsmacked at the broad-shouldered figure that moved across the room, closer and closer to Gulf. There was an aura of elegance, of perfection, of knowing precisely the reaction he’d garner simply by entering a room. Gulf’s breath wasn’t the only one that’d stopped - he had seen virtually every eye in the room turn abruptly towards the man slowly heading Gulf’s direction.

But then Mew had turned around abruptly, taking a seat two rows in front of Gulf. Gulf felt his heart sink. He'd fidgeted with the rings on his fingers, looked down at his stomper boots. He’d know he was one of the tallest people in that room, but at that precise moment, he’d felt like the smallest. Then when the heartbeat in his chest had settled down enough, Gulf had let himself look up through his bangs.

Mew was in a white suit, and with his artfully tousled hair, he looked like an angel straight from heaven. He had been talking to someone beside him, and the spotlights from the stage highlighted precisely the sharp line of his nose and the curve of his jaw.

Gulf had let himself stare for a second longer than would've been socially appropriate. He couldn’t help it: even through text, Mew could get him talking like no one else could. It seemed appropriate that even in real life, his mere presence was enough to shake Gulf to the very core. If anyone caught onto his longing gaze, they didn't let on. Mew didn't seem to have the same struggles as Gulf did, because he didn't turn around to look at Gulf even once.

By the end of the night, Gulf felt like he had memorized every line and movement of the fabric on Mew’s back.

In hopes of finally speaking to the man, Gulf had decided to go to the afterparty. P'Best had been surprised, but Gulf had defended himself: _"It's good to go to these things at least once, right?"_

(He’d only gone that once. It just wasn’t his scene, all the niceties and the judgement. It felt like everyone was evaluating the next person, and it sent shivers down Gulf’s spine.)

But Mew hadn't showed up. And they never crossed paths after that - whether it was fate or Mew's doing, Gulf didn't know. It'd felt like he'd been blindsided by the only person he knew in the industry - or at least, the first one who had really spoken to him, wanted to get to know him. It was a single spark of genuity within an industry largely based on conversations comprised of small talk, and niceties that meant nothing once you weren't useful. And it’d disappeared, for him.

So he'd turned to the people outside the industry, and specifically, back to her. 

Though Gulf's relationship with his previous girlfriend had ended not long before he'd started talking to Mew, he'd always kept in contact with her. They'd stayed friends through everything, and she'd been there for him. They weren't meant to be as lovers, but as friends, they were great.

Gulf can't lie - for a short time after Mew, he'd wondered if this was a sign from the universe, if maybe he should go back to her. After all, they’d been good together - not good enough to stay together, but good enough. But she'd known better, known she was the rebound, when he came to her. 

It made sense - she'd always been the more insightful one between the two of them. Even before they'd become lovers, she'd been protective of him, and when it had all fallen to pieces, she'd still been there for him. She'd understood where his heart belonged, all along.

But the person who held his heart - that was another issue. Everyday, Mew seemed to stray further and further from him. He felt like he was grasping with straws, counting sheep that wouldn’t let him rest. The thing with Mew - it wasn’t a thing Gulf could just sleep off. He tried, though, he really tried. He'd lay awake for hours staring at the ceiling. Tried counting sheep. Played a few extra rounds of ROV with his friends, who could be baited into games at even the strangest of hours. But instead he was losing sleep, and forgoing dreams. The comfort of his own bed suddenly felt unfamiliar.

However, he eventually learned that it was nothing compared to the cold of the bathroom wall against his back. They’d been backstage at a music show, Gulf walking backstage after completing his performance. There was no one in the hallways, and the white walls seemed to close down upon him. Before Gulf had known it, his wrist had been grabbed, and by the time he looked up to see Mew’s face, he’d been thrust against the tiled bathroom wall, eyes wide and lips parted in shock. Any relief he'd felt at the sight of Mew approaching him was rudely pushed aside by that feeling, the sharp twinge of pain at his tailbone. The sounds - the music from the stage, the shouting from people backstage - all blurred into one then into nothing.

Gulf had felt Mew's warm breath against his lips, and had parted them in response, involuntarily. Let his eyes close halfway. After all, if it had been a dream, he should have let his eyes close. Wasn't that how sleeping worked?

But it hadn't been a dream, something Mew seemed determined to show him. When Mew had surged forth to capture Gulf's lips, he had done so with a ferocity that shocked the latter. All of it - the warm tongue licking against the seam of his lips, the hand that curls possessively around his jaw - had been a great contrast to the Mew he’d known, the one who looked away coolly, the calm one, the controlled one.

That Mew had been a different Mew, and Gulf had welcomed it, clutching at Mew's biceps desperately, tilting his head to welcome the kiss. Had let Mew take control: sucking at Gulf's bottom lip then his tongue, then pressing a thumb into Gulf's dimple.

He hadn’t taken Gulf that time, no, but he’d taken both of their erections in one big hand and rubbed until they both spurted white over Gulf. Mew hadn’t seemed to know what to do in that aftermath either. They had faced each other like that, not quite daring to look each other in the eyes but not quite looking away.

Then Mew had started moving silently, cleaning Gulf up with a practiced efficiency. Gulf had wondered, if he should’ve said something. Instead, he’d kept mum, and so had Mew, all the way up until he left the bathroom. He hadn’t looked back that time either, just given Gulf a brief nod.

 _Oh._ Just like that, Gulf had been left alone again.

He'd reasoned it out. Now that Gulf thinks about it, he'd made a lot of excuses in Mew's defence. But he'd convinced himself. He couldn't be seen with Mew, because people would assume things, and as far as people went, he could assume they wouldn't be good things.

After all, Gulf had never seen an openly gay couple in the entertainment industry. He'd seen the popularity of Y series, but he wasn't foolish enough to think that it meant anything spectacular for the gay community. Either way, as he cleaned himself up with rough tissue paper and trembling hands, Gulf could not possibly think that anything Mew wanted with him that time would be real.

Because how real could they be, when it seemed real couples - those who loved each other - could barely hold hands in public without fear of discrimination?

(Mew had apologized later, in a formal tone resembling a customer service message. Gulf had cried one more time that night, muffling his sorrow against his pillows in case his family heard.)

In that moment, Gulf had made a decision. If this was the only way he could have Mew, then he'll take it. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but he does - goes whenever Mew calls him over to his car after an event, returns the kisses Mew gives him, and learns to leave afterwards, just before Mew can get tired of him again.

But now, Gulf thinks he can have some hope. Gulf thinks he knows what Mew really feels. Or at least, what Mew feels towards him.

Mew likes him, doesn't he? Gulf might be stubborn sometimes, and obtuse other times, but he's not stupid. He doesn't know why Mew hasn't said anything, but he can guess a couple of reasons. Something to do with careers, with reputations. With fan reactions, with media reactions, with the general public. But the feelings are there, Gulf is sure of it.

When Mew presses him up against the wall now, more often than not a wall in Mew's apartment, it's different. Gulf can feel it - in his bones, in the way Mew threads his fingers into his hair, in Mew's kisses, somehow gentle and passionate at the same time.

So it must be something. All Gulf has to do is wait, wait until Mew pulls him aside one more time, holds his wrists and says _Gulf, I like you, let's be together, for real this time,_ Gulf presses a hand to his chest, where his heart is beating quick, quick, quicker. _Please let that day come sooner._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- gulf's pov this time! what did you guys think?  
> \- i know bbgt!mew seems like an asshole right now, but pls remember that during these scenes he's usually in a rly bad mental state. whilst that doesn't excuse everything, i don't think we're ourselves whenever that happens to us  
> \- p-pls understand 🙏  
> \- thank you for all the kudos and comments on this fic! it means the world to me~


	13. Chapter 13

There’s not a peep out of Gulf for the next few hours. It’s intimidating; Mew’s been through his fair share of awkward situations, but this has to be on par with the worst of them.

Mew isn't used to this awkward silence between him and Gulf. He'd thought sharing a ride to the filming venue of  _ New Friends _ would have just been a few hours of cuddling, maybe peeking over Gulf's shoulder at the latest Chelsea match he was watching, or working on his own music with Gulf perched in his lap. Frowns to himself at this last mental image, and allows him to stare left at where Gulf is sitting mute on his side of the car. If only Mew knew what was wrong.

He calls Gulf's name: once, twice. Sees the young rapper's shoulders twitch in the most minute of responses, but ultimately he never turns around to Mew, just continues lying there limp in his seat, feigning sleep with a capability held only by actors and the most tired of people.

Mew turns away, frustrated - with his lack of knowledge, with how Gulf is just sitting there, barely an arm's length away from Mew, and yet he feels so impossibly far.

Their managers can definitely tell something's wrong - over the years, Nong Stu has developed a sixth sense for Mew's anger, and p'Best isn't fussing over Gulf like he normally would.

Mew steeples his fingers and presses the tapered tips to the bridge of his nose.  _ Fuck. _ He knows he hasn't been the best at communication, but if Gulf would just tell him what was wrong, Mew would rush to fix it immediately.

Mentally, he lets himself return to the scene that has ignited Gulf's anger. Thinks about everything that could've possibly made Gulf angry. Maybe the sunflowers were a little wilted? Maybe Gulf hadn't been pleased with the choice of location? Mew shakes his head. All those concerns are concerns he'd have, not Gulf.

"Do you need anything, p'Mew?" Nong Stu whispers to him from the front seat.

"Water, if you have any." Mew replies, and is handed a bottle. The water is lukewarm but it works to soothe his parched throat.

Outside, the sun is beginning to set behind the distant mountains, and a new day will soon start. Tomorrow, their very real fight - though it almost didn't seem like one - will have to be relegated to the backseat.

Mew hates it, hates that they have to go back to pretending again, but he'll do whatever has to be done.  _ It's for both our sakes _ , he reminds himself,  _ both Gulf and I.  _ He looks left at Gulf. His hair's messy from shifting around, and Mew reaches out to tidy his flyaway hairs. Let his hand linger longer than necessary as the sun sinks behind the distant landscape.

* * *

By the time they get to the venue, Mew and Gulf are both in sorry states. To be fair, so is everyone else.

But they're all celebrities with reputations to upkeep, so they stand in a line, each taking their turn to greet the camera as it goes down the line. Mew's read the cast list, but looks over the faces surrounding him again. They're mostly actors, which is probably why he doesn't recognize a large majority of them. Mew curls an arm around Gulf, who stiffens in his hold. Mew's heart sinks.

"The camera's getting closer to us." He whispers to Gulf, and the younger man nods awkwardly. Mew takes this opportunity to tuck himself closer to Gulf for their introduction.

Following the round of introductions, they're informed about the structure of the show - supposedly a mini-vacation interspersed with the occasional game and bonding activities. Mew shifts onto his other foot, making sure the sigh he lets out isn't loud enough to be caught by the microphones around. Though he's relaxed a bit, Gulf is still stiff as a board in Mew's arm, and the singer isn't sure this is going to be a good vacation at all.

"- and we hope you'll all make new friends!" Mew claps as the introduction ends, and they're handed the room assignments.

"We're together." Mew says quietly to Gulf, conscious of the cameramen currently focused on them. Some of the celebrities are also lingering by, observing them. Mew recognizes a pair of them, now that he's seen them up close. Nong Arm and nong Geng.

The pair of them have a large fanbase, and any events they're both at usually trend. The reason why Mew knows them is because they starred in a popular Y series, relatively recently. If Mew remembers correctly, it was something about engineering students.  _ For some reason, it's always the engineering students _ , Mew muses. He doesn't quite understand it himself, but as someone belonging to the LGBT community, he'd enjoyed the drama and the representation it gave to them.

Still, Mew doesn't know what to make of the expressions on their faces. They're practically unreadable in their ambiguity - not knowing or wistful, like most people's expressions are whenever they see a couple. They're not entirely displeased, either. Rather, they look a little...awkward? Uncomfortable? It can't be that bad, since they themselves have starred in a Y series and portrayed an LGBT relationship.

One of them is holding a room assignment sheet in his hand - they must be sharing a room, much like he and Gulf are. Mew frowns. He's not sure what to make of that either.

To be fair, he isn't sure how to feel about him and Gulf sharing a room either. Under any other circumstances, he would be perfectly happy with that. Right now, with the awkward tension between them mounting and the cameras in every nook and cranny, he feels trapped. Gulf seems to feel the same way, if his rejection of the very idea isn't obvious enough.

"Later." Gulf replies, leaving his luggage behind and stalking off in the direction of the backyard. Mew can't let himself hesitate either, taking Gulf's luggage in one hand and his own in the other, making his way up to the second floor of the house.

Mew appraises their room with careful eyes. The room is minimal in its design, particularly in terms of the bed that occupies it. Because there's just one bed, smack dab in the middle of the room. There are two cameras in the room, one directed towards the bed and the other with a bird's eye view of the entire space.

Mew tries to make his frustration less obvious.  _ They're really doing this, aren't they? _ There goes any hope Mew had of talking to Gulf and resolving the unspoken conflict between them as soon as possible. But clearly Gulf isn't in the mood to talk, if the way he'd walked out earlier had been any indication.

Whatever. Mew decides to make himself comfortable: laying out his luggage, taking a shower, closing the curtains on the hot Thailand sun.

He hesitates as he approaches the bed, but in the end Mew lets himself drop carelessly onto it, damp hair and all. Rolling onto his side, he realizes - naturally, almost instinctively, he's on  _ his _ side of the bed. It's the same as at home, when he drapes his arm over Gulf and buries his face into his neck. But Gulf's not there, so Mew's hand falls empty onto the blankets with a soft little thud. Mew squeezes his eyes close. Opens them again. The other side of the bed is still empty.

* * *

First task of the day: grocery shopping for the house. Mew's early - he can see the cameramen setting up outside, and one of them pops in to attach GoPros at various spots in the car. He's opted to sit out in the car and wait, searching for some reprieve from the keen-eyed cameras.

He takes a peek at himself in the side mirror, daring not to touch his dark eyebags for fear of making them worse.

Gulf hadn't been there when he'd fell asleep last night, and when Mew woke up this morning the other side of the bed was already made, though it had still been warm. Mew had had trouble telling if it was just the heat of the sun or the lingering warmth of a previous presence.

Mew lifts his hand to block the sunlight as it grows stronger - the warmth is comforting though the light is a tad too bright for Mew's liking. He's sitting in the driver's seat with his notebook open in his lap, scribbled out words littering the entire spread. The atmosphere is a little stilted even without Gulf there, and Mew crosses out another line on his page before abruptly closing his notebook and leaning back into his seat, eyes closed.

Fortunately, when Mild and Goy get into the car, Mild tucking her lip tint away into her purse and Goy with a broad smile on her face, they’re cheerful enough to compensate for any lack of energy on Mew's part. They're Thailand's multitalented pretty girls - besides acting, Mild's a musically-inclined businesswoman, and Goy's scriptwriting is unparalleled. They're both amazing, but Mew's heart isn't available.

"Your boyfriend isn't here?" Mild asks honestly. Mew shakes his head, tidying away his notebook and pen.

"Thought I should let him run wild for a bit." Gulf had been playing soccer with a couple of the guys when Mew had gone to fetch him, and it'd been so long since he'd seen that carefree smile on Gulf's face that he'd immediately told the production team they should leave him be. 

Mild sighs: "I wanted him to come along!"

"So you can fangirl?" Goy teases. Mild gives her a light slap on the thigh in retaliation.

"Of course...not! It's just that if Gulf was here, we'd be MG," She points to herself and Goy, then to Mew and the invisible presence of Gulf beside him, "and MG!"

"We'd be MG times two!" Goy exclaims to the camera, flashing a V-sign. It’s an upbeat energy Mew can get along with. He grins too, waggling his fingers in front of the camera.

"Bring him next time." Goy continues to Mew, her tone suspiciously gentler.

"Sure." Mew agrees blindly. He'll figure it out.

* * *

Mew wakes up sharply in the middle of the night to find Gulf standing at the doorway, staring impassively. His well-worn Chelsea shirt hangs loose on his frame, and his hair is still wet from the shower.

"Gulf." He says, and the younger man visibly startles. He pauses, and though it's dark Mew can tell his breath is hitched. Mew can hear his own breathing in the dark room.

"Phi." Mew's heart leaps at the reply, as cold and laconic as it is.

"Why?"

"Why what."

"Why are you mad at me?" Gulf lets out a noise of frustration, fists clenching the sides of his pajama pants. Outside, the wind is blowing, and it seems like there's a storm coming.

“It’s been so long, phi. It’s been so long and you still don’t know” Gulf's eyes, always so honest and expressive, are sad rather than angry and Mew is so confused.

"What do you mean?" He asks Gulf, who shakes his head.  _ If you don't get it, you just don't. _

This is how it is, isn't it? Mew's always being left in the dark. He can't be mad, because he's horrible when his temper gets the best of him, and he can't ask what's wrong without garnering a strange look.

"We can't keep this up forever, you know." Mew says. No reply, just the blanket shuffling as Gulf curls under the covers, his back to Mew. Mew doesn't drift off to sleep until much, much later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- pls keep in mind i rly don't believe this is how mewgulf would handle this situation irl, but this is bbgt!mewgulf  
> \- real life mewgulf are communication kings, whilst bbgt!mewgulf could probably use some classes lol  
> \- anyhow, i hoped you enjoyed this chapter - i haven't finished replying to all the comments from last chapter but they were so sad :( this chapter isn't the happiest but it's not as heartbreaking, which is? probably good?  
> \- anywaysss find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/myu_gao) for more mewgulf shenanigans! i'll be working more on my mewgulf socmed au this week, but another bbgt chapter will probably come after that!  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/myu_gao)   
>  [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/myu_gao)


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